


Like a wave crashing over me

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Photographer!Jensen, Social Anxiety, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19228453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Jensen’s happy with his life. He lives by the sea, spends his days taking photos of the landscape around him and doesn’t really talk to his neighbours. He’s content in the world he’s created for himself. Until Jared shows up on his beach, and for the first time in years, Jensen wants to find a way to overcome his shyness and let someone in.





	Like a wave crashing over me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like a wave crashing over me](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/492043) by YanYann. 



> Written for the SPN J2 Big Bang 2019. Thanks as always to Wendy for running the bang!
> 
> I was lucky to get YanYann as my artist this year and she's created beautiful artwork. Make sure you go and leave her some love. 
> 
> Thanks as always to Nisaki for betaing my work - your feedback and support is so valued :)

Jensen does the same things every day, at the same time, more or less. There’s a little flexibility in his schedule, of course; if it’s pouring with rain, he might postpone his walk, or if he’s had a particularly good night editing the night before, he might get up a little later. But for the most part, his routine is fairly fixed.

He has a coffee as soon as he wakes up, the caffeine helping to jolt him into the morning. Once he’s a little more awake, he hops into the shower before having a second cup of coffee with his breakfast. That varies a little - some mornings it’s fresh fruit and cereal, others he puts in the effort to make pancakes, while in the winter porridge is his preference. Once he’s full, he puts on his shoes and picks up his camera and heads out for his daily walk.

Jensen’s developed quite the portfolio of routes in the years he’s been living in Elm Bay. He varies them, tries not to have a set schedule; although he often finds himself walking past the church on a Sunday, watching from the cliffs above as people stream to and fro. Whichever route he takes, he meanders slowly, camera out; stopping here and there to capture whatever takes his fancy.

But all his routes start and end at the same spot - the beach a few steps from his house. Wherever he’s headed, he starts each day pacing across the sand, eyes glued to the horizon, reminding himself how lucky he is to live where he does.

That’s where, for the first time in years, his routine gets completely shaken up. Because that’s where he first sees the boy.

***

It’s an average morning; the sun is shining on and off, scudding between clouds blown along by a fresh breeze. He can hear the seagulls screeching outside his house and the tapping of tree branches against his kitchen window. Fridays are his chore-days - he adds trimming the branches to his mental list for this week.

Finishing off his second coffee, he shrugs on a cardigan and heads for the door. He’s got his boots on within seconds and his camera bag slung over his shoulder. He decides to head behind the house into the forest once he’s been to the beach; the light should be perfect for some beautiful shots of the young warblers he’d seen a few days ago.

His feet sinking into sand always brings Jensen a feeling of peace. Heading along the shore, he perches on his favourite rock, settling down to watch the waves for a few minutes. Staring out towards the horizon, he fumbles in his bag for his camera. Every day, he thinks he’ll sit here and watch the sea, but more often than not, his interest is captured by a particular aspect of the light, or the annual flight of the geese, or a fishing boat zIpping along. Luckily, shots of the bay always pay well, supplementing his income so that he doesn’t have to dip too far into his savings.

He snaps a few shots, taking in a particularly beautiful cloud formation. He’s just about to pack up and head towards the forest when he spots something out of the corner of his eye, a bright spot against the darker sea.

A kayak hoves into view, the incumbent paddling gracefully. Jensen watches, almost hidden behind the rocks, as the kayak gets nearer and nearer to shore, the rower changing direction with ease. Jensen’s little patch of beach isn’t private, but he’s grown used to thinking it is; Elm Bay is a tiny town, sparse and spaced out, and no one has felt the need to invade his space for years. He doesn’t know how to feel about this interloper.

Once the canoe is shallow enough, the kayaker hops out, putting the oar over one shoulder and pulling the kayak towards shore. Standing ankle-deep in the water, he makes sure the kayak is securely aground before dropping the oar onto the sand and proceeding to shake himself out, much like Mrs Eddard’s labrador.

Sparkles fly from his hair in the sunlight and Jensen watches as he pulls off his lifejacket, dumping it next to the boat. Jensen’s breath catches in his throat as the man unzips his wetsuit, stripping down with all the care of someone who thinks he’s completely alone.

Bronzed, gleaming skin is revealed, inch by inch as the man struggles out of the sopping suit. The man is fit, muscles rippling with each movement, and Jensen is no longer surprised at the ease with which he’d handled the kayak. Once he’s down to swimming trunks, he steps back towards the water, bending down to rinse his wetsuit in the sea. His legs go on for miles, Jensen thinks faintly, wondering how tall the man is.

Jensen doesn’t recognise him, a rare occurrence in Elm Bay. Jensen doesn’t mix much with his neighbours, but he knows each and every one of them, and this young man is new - which also explains why he’s now sprawled out on Jensen’s beach, long legs extended and head tipped back as he soaks up the meagre spring sunshine.

Jensen’s not good at social niceties, but he knows enough to understand that he should get up, make some noise to announce his presence and introduce himself. He should say hello, explain that he lives beyond the dunes and find out who the young man is, what brings him to Elm Bay.

But he can’t bring himself to move, to disturb the quiet; more than anything, he’s not sure he’ll have the words he needs to make the right impression. Not that he knows what impression he wants to make, exactly, but he knows it will go wrong. And besides, he’s unwilling to intrude; the man looks so peaceful and happy, Jensen can’t bear to disturb him.

He watches for the next hour until the young man pulls his wetsuit back on with a grimace and slides back into his kayak, paddling back the way he came. His daily walk is entirely forgotten.

***

It’s not until late that evening that Jensen realises how much his routine has been disrupted. There are no new photos to edit that evening, leaving him at something of a loss in the period between tidying and dinner. When he settles down to read after eating, he’s unable to concentrate, thoughts flickering back to the young man and what he was doing in Elm Bay. Even his sleep is disturbed, his body less tired than usual after missing his daily walk. He tosses and turns during the night, unable to stop thinking about whether the man will be back on his beach the next morning.

There’s no sign of him the next day, though, or the day after; no matter how long Jensen drags out his time watching the waves. After a third day without a sighting, Jensen’s forced back into routine, conceding that the man had been a rare day tripper.

Thursday is Jensen’s day to go into town and do his weekly shop at the tiny market, picking up anything special he’d ordered online and anything he might need for chores from the little hardware store. Getting ready in the morning is distinctly less pleasant than his routine on other days; it’s not that he dislikes going into town, but it’s definitely not his favourite part of the week.

He lingers over his second coffee, debating as he does every week whether he could postpone the trip. He’d tried ordering his shopping online at one point; but the remoteness of his property had necessitated several anxiety-inducing phone calls with the delivery van before they found the right route. He’d ordered again the next week, thinking that the ordeal had been done once and was no longer necessary, but a different driver had faced the same problems and required the same assistance, and Jensen had given it up as a bad idea.

He’d tried leaving longer between his weekly trips in the past, as well; but he’d soon realised that he ran out of fresh vegetables and fruit after the first week. He hadn’t enjoyed living on a diet of dried and tinned food, and more importantly, he’d started to sniffle from not having enough vitamins; so he’d reverted to his habit of going into town once a week.

He reminds himself of this as he sips the dregs of his coffee, steeling himself to leave the house. It would only take about an hour and a half; he’d be back, ready to edit the morning’s photos, before he knew it. And besides, all the people in town knew not to talk to him by now; there was no need to worry. Mrs Tay would even have most of his items ready for him to collect.

Resolved, he collects his wallet and coat and climbs into his battered truck. It starts with a clunk; Jensen knows he has limited time left with his truck, but he hopes that only using it once a week will extend it’s life significantly.

The drive into town is both nerve-wracking and beautiful; the road takes him along the cliffs, the sea spread out below him, crashing onto the sharp rocks below. Jensen’s beach is cut off from the town’s main bay by steep cliffs, adding to his privacy; he wonders again who the man had been and how he’d come to be outside Jensen’s home.

As ever, there’s plenty of space to park on Main Street. The town isn’t dying, but it’s not thriving either; the majority of the residents are fishermen or farmers and the beach has avoided becoming a tourist trap.

With one final deep breath, he jumps out of the truck and heads towards Tay’s Market.

The bell tinkles above him as the door shuts, calling Mrs Tay out from the back room where she spends most of her day watching her stories. She bustles into the store, looking much the same as she had when Jensen had first visited Elm Bay as a child.

“Ah, Jensen, of course,” she says. “Most of your bits are packed up ready for you. Let me know when you’re ready to pay.” She smiles at him encouragingly, one of the people who have never quite given up hoping for more interaction. Jensen smiles, ducking his head down, but he doesn’t have anything he needs to add, so he doesn’t. He can feel the familiar flush run across his cheeks, highlighting his rampant freckles and making him even more uncomfortable than before.

When it becomes obvious Jensen isn’t going to respond, Mrs Tay retreats back to her stories, leaving Jensen to browse for the few non-essential items he buys each week. Mrs Tay brings in a few bits of differing stock each week, and despite Jensen’s general dislike of his weekly shopping trip, he always looks forward to seeing what little luxuries are available.

He’s in the middle of debating whether to swap out his regular packet of Oreos for the limited edition white fudge oreos - a risk, what if he doesn’t like them? - when the door tinkles open.His shoulders hunch, coming up to his ears; an instinctive reaction he’s aware of but unable to control. His heart sinks at the thought of more interaction, wondering whether the new visitor will be one of the people who tries to talk to him, or hopefully, one of those who have given up.

He’s prepared to listen carefully for clues, but completely unprepared to hear a completely unfamiliar voice.

“Hi! Is Mrs Tay around?” There’s a brief pause, before the man behind him raises his voice a little. “Mrs Tay?”

Jensen has lived in Elm Bay for years now. He knows everyone and recognises all their voices. This is completely new, and it sparks a level of panic within him. He hadn’t expected this. His heart starts pounding, the oreos trembling in his hands.

“Jared!” Mrs Tay reappears, smile evident in her voice. “How are you today, dear?”

“Good, thank you,” the man, Jared, responds. “You?”

They devolve into the kind of small talk Jensen can only dream of. Whoever the stranger is, he already knows a lot about the town. Jensen keeps his back turned, hoping that Jared will leave before he has to pay. But he’s never been that lucky.

“Jensen, are you ready? I’ll ring you up if you are. Jared and I are likely to keep on talking all day, otherwise.”

Mortified, Jensen turns around, nodding, to find the boy from the beach behind him. He’s still clutching the fudge oreos; too overwhelmed to make a decision, he puts both on the counter.

“Those are so yummy,” Jared says to him, sounding reverent.

Jensen stares, unable to formulate a response. He can’t agree that the oreos are yummy - he hasn’t tried them. But he doesn’t want to contradict Jared, that’s not nice. Wracking his brain for other options, it takes him a moment to realise Jared is staring.

“Oh, Jared,” Mrs Tay says, sounding awkward. “This is Jensen. He’s a bit shy.”

“Oh,” Jared says. “No worries! I’m sure I talk enough for everyone!”

He sounds so cheerful that Jensen’s confused. Normally, people don’t react well to him; he’s not used to people being unfazed.

Wanting nothing more than to leave, he watches avidly as Mrs Tay rings up his purchases. Most of it is already packed for him; he puts his few added items into the shopper he’d brought in and starts to pick up his bags, trying to juggle them all at once.

“Here, let me help with that,” Jared says, taking two of the bags directly from Jensen’s arms. Too shocked to protest, Jensen gapes.

“Go along, Jared. That’s Jensen’s truck outside. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Jared beams at her, dimples flashing up and dazzling Jensen, freezing him in place.

“C’mon,” Jared says, the grin now aimed at Jensen, who is powerless to do anything but follow.

Jared leads the way to the truck and settles the bags in the back.

“It’s not gonna rain,” he says. “So I assume they’ll be ok back here? Want me to help put the others in? Or do you want it all loaded in the cab?”

There are so many words, all at once; more than Jensen can process. He manages to shake his head. The back of the truck is fine, and he lifts his own bags in as well.

“Ok,” Jared chirps. “Nice truck by the way, how old is it? Really cool. How long have you had it? I love these old models.”

Jensen doesn’t have a response for that either. The truck had been his grandfathers; it had come with his house, age unknown.

Jared waits while he fumbles with the key, the tremble in his hands making it difficult to get the door open. He almost stumbles as he climbs in, before slamming the door shut far harder than he’d intended.

Jared’s face stills for a moment, but the smile is back in place within seconds.

“Ok Jensen, it was nice to meet you! I’m sure I’ll see you around soon.”

Jensen’s been having trouble making eye contact, but at the thought that Jared might be around more frequently, his head shoots up. Jared’s beaming at him and to his own surprise, Jensen finds a smile forming on his own face in response. He gets lost in Jared, for a moment, before remembering that he has to turn the key to start the truck.

“See you soon,” Jared shouts as Jensen pulls out. He’s still waving merrily as Jensen turns the corner.

If Jensen has to pull the truck over outside of town to sit quietly for a few moments, there’s no one to know but him and the birds.

***

It takes a couple of days for Jensen to feel comfortable again, greatly aided by the fudge oreos, which are delicious. He takes a couple out to the beach with him every morning, nibbling on them as he watches the waves and tries not to think about Jared.

He’s not successful at that. So little changes in Jensen’s life that even little things are a big deal, and Jared is not a little thing. He was significantly taller than Jensen and his friendly personality made him seem bigger still.

Jensen knows he’s not good at talking to people; in fact, he’s gotten significantly worse over the last few years. He’s used to people thinking he’s a freak, or flat out ignoring him, once they’ve realised he’s not good at contributing to conversations. But Jared hadn’t felt like that at all; it had felt like Jared was happy to fill in the silences without judgement.

Jensen spends his time on the beach wondering what would happen if he saw Jared again. Would he be able to muster up some words? Would Jared be as friendly?

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

***

Three days later, Jensen’s sitting at his desk in the late afternoon sunlight, breeze tickling him through the open window. He’s focused on editing some shots of a beaver he’d seen in the stream that morning, putting the finishing touches on his dam. It reminds him of the beavers from Narnia and he hums gently as he works, smiling to himself.

The silence of his house, usually broken only by the crash of waves on the beach, is abruptly disturbed by the exuberant barking of a dog. Frowning, Jensen looks around, but there’s no dog in sight. His nearest neighbours, the Goodalls, have a couple of dogs on their farm; Jensen wonders if one of them might have gotten free. If so, it’s his clear neighbourly duty to go and collect the dog and bring it back, even if the Goodalls are among the townspeople who make it clear they think Jensen’s a freak.

He saves his work and and heads out, picking up his camera on autopilot. If he has to interact with the Goodalls, perhaps he’ll at least get a couple of good shots of the dog out of it. His feet sink into the sand as he strides barefoot over the dunes, warm against his skin for the first time this year.

The barking intensifies as Jensen approaches the beach, clearly two dogs now rather than one. Jensen frowns again; it’s unlike the Goodalls to be careless like this. But as he scrambles to the top of the dune, the water coming into view, there’s an almighty splash as a dog he’s never seen before flies into the water in chase of a stick. A second dog barks excitedly from the shoreline, jumping up and down next to a tall figure.

“Harley, come back, you idiot,” Jared yells, laughing. The dog in the water paddles like mad towards the stick, water splashing up around him.

Jensen freezes in shock. He’d wanted to see Jared again, but this isn’t what he expected at all. He’s not prepared for this scenario. He debates for a moment, but decides to go back. Jared hasn’t seen him yet and the dogs are clearly fine; he can go back to his editing guilt-free.

He turns to head back to the house but his foot lands on a hidden rock, turning his ankle. He falls with a yell, landing on his ass.

It’s loud enough that Jared turns around, the dog next to him falling silent. Before Jensen can move, the dog is headed his way at a run, excited to explore. He’s almost bowled over by her enthusiasm, rough tongue licking across his face in broad swipes as soon as she’s sniffed behind his ear.

“Oh god, Sadie, no, stop,” Jared shouts, coming up behind her. “Oh wait, Harley, fuck, Harley, come back. Sadie, _no_!”

Jensen stares wide-eyed as Jared spins on the spot, trying to decide which of his recalcitrant dogs to deal with first. Sadie continues to lave at his face, tail wagging madly. Jensen’s hands come up automatically to rub at her neck, scratching behind her ears, and she lets out a yip of joy.

“Ok, well, you’re more or less ok,” Jared says, staring at them. “I’ll be back. I just gotta…” he gestures, before taking off down the beach towards the water, yelling at Harley. Jensen watches as Jared pleads with Harley to swim back in, orders interspersed with begging as Harley swims merrily in circles, clutching his branch.

“Oh you stupid dog, come back,” Jared yells, sounding defeated. Harley turns and swims back towards the beach, shaking himself down as he hits dry land and proceeding past Jared with an attitude that screams that he came in because it was his choice.

By the time Jared (and Harley) have made their way back to Jensen at the bottom of the dune, Sadie is firmly ensconced in his lap, huffing happily as Jensen strokes her sides. Harley settles down nearby, growling at his branch as he starts to tear it apart.

“You’ve conquered my dog’s heart,” Jared says, smiling down at them. Jensen doesn’t have a response but it does make him smile back. He’s startled when Jared crouches down beside him.

“Are you ok?” Jared asks. “I saw you fall. Did you hurt yourself before Sadie jumped on you? Or after? Did she make it worse?”

He looks worried. He’s close enough that Jensen can see tiny frown lines between his eyes, and the way his gaze flits across Jensen’s body, presumably looking for injuries.

Jensen shakes his head. He’s fine; his pride is injured far more than his body.

“Ok, good,” Jared says, relieved. “Sadie doesn’t have very good manners. I try to train them, but they think orders are optional.” Reassured that Jensen is ok, Jared flops down fully, pushing his long legs out in front of him and leaning back, much like he had the first morning Jensen had seen him. “Are you ok with Sadie sprawling over you like that? I can move her if you’d rather?”

Jensen tightens his arm around Sadie automatically; he’s enjoying having her warmth spread across him.

“Ok then,” Jared laughs, dimples flashing. “Clearly, you’re fine with it!” He leans across to give Sadie’s head a stroke. “Shame my girl’s deserted me for another man, but can’t say I blame her.”

Jensen blinks at him, unsure what Jared means and far too overwhelmed to try and respond. To make matters worse, Jared blushes a little, hanging his head down so that his hair falls across his face. Jensen worries that Jared is embarrassed, but he has no idea why.

Jared sits back with a final pat to Sadie’s head and there’s silence for a few minutes. It’s far more comfortable than Jensen would’ve expected; possibly because it’s punctuated by Sadie’s little whines of pleasure and Harley’s growls at his stick, or because Jared doesn’t expect anything from Jensen. He debates whether he should leave, but it’s nice to sit here in the warmth with a friendly dog, and it gives him an opportunity to learn more about Jared.

The other man stays quiet for a good long while, gazing out to sea peacefully. Jensen watches, taking in his unique profile; the sun behind him highlights the strong cheekbones and pointy nose, the filcking ends of his hair. Jensen aches for his camera, but he knows he has to ask permission first, and he’s not sure he can find the words. He imagines taking multiple pictures of Jared, directing him to turn this way and that, the way modelling photographers do, and thinks about how he would be able to spend his evenings editing them, bringing individual features into focus.

“So you live round here, I guess?” Jared asks, looking at Jensen, who nods. “Oh crap, this isn’t private property, is it?”

He looks so utterly distressed that Jensen is torn. It’s not private property, but he has definitely encouraged people to leave him in peace in the past. But Jared didn’t know, and besides, Jensen doesn’t exactly mind him being here. His feelings on that are all mixed up, but he’s certainly not upset. So he shakes his head.

“Good,” Jared says, looking relieved. “It’s such a beautiful spot. I found it the other day, I was kayaking and I needed a break. And I thought it would be great for the dogs, they can play here without other dogs. I don’t have to worry about them upsetting the other dogs with how mental they are like on the town beach. We already had a run in with that chihuahua.”

Jensen snorts with laughter, a sound that surprises him as much as Jared. He can’t imagine that Mr Lewis’ arrogant, pampered little chihuahua would have taken kindly to Harley and Sadie. Jared beams at him.

“Yeah, well. You can imagine. So I thought I’d bring them here, it’s a good long walk for them as well, tires them out. Would you mind if I brought them back?”

Stroking softly between Sadie’s eyes, Jensen shakes his head.

“Sweet.” The silence stretches out between them again.

It’s broken eventually by the final destruction of Harley’s branch, tiny splinters flying everywhere. Harley’s up and about chasing them in seconds, growling as the wind whips bits away from him.

“Right, I think that’s my cue to find another stick,” Jared says with a sigh. “We’ve got a bit more energy to burn before the walk home. Wanna play for a bit?” He heaves himself to his feet and looks down at Jensen.

Jensen considers. He wonders what it would be like to run around with Jared, Harley and Sadie, throwing branches and chasing the dogs. It feels overwhelming, like too much of a good thing.

“Ok, no worries,” Jared says, when Jensen doesn’t respond after a minute. “Sadie, girl, c’mon. Let’s chase!”

Sadie whuffs on Jensen’s lap, looking lazy; but as soon as Jared takes off running down the beach she jumps up, bounding after him.

Jensen’s left alone, feeling oddly bereft. He watches Jared play for a moment, but this is the most human contact he’s had in a long time. Standing, he tests his ankle, just in case; but when there’s no twinge of pain he retreats back across the dunes, stopping frequently to snatch glances of Jared and the dogs.

He can still hear them from the house, delighted barks and the occasional shout of laughter from Jared carried on the wind. He settles back at his computer, ready to finish editing up his beaver pictures, but his enthusiasm is gone, lost to the feel of fur under his palms and the memory of dimples on a smiling face.

***

Jensen forces himself back into his routine over the next couple of days. He gets the beaver pics edited and sent off to his agent, who deals with nature magazines for him. He makes the trip into town for his shopping with more enthusiasm than normal, nerves tingling in his belly and pebbling his skin, but there’s no sign of Jared anywhere and he can’t bring himself to ask Mrs Tay for information.

He keeps an eye on the beach, lingering each morning and sitting with the windows open in the afternoons, but there’s nothing to suggest Jared has brought the dogs back. Jensen concludes that he’d freaked Jared out; that Jared doesn’t want to take the risk that he’ll have to awkwardly interact with Jensen again and is sticking to walks where he can interact normally with other humans.

He walks up past the church on Sunday, as he so often does. There’s a particular log where he likes to sit on the hillside, the remnant of a tree torn down in some past storm; it gives him a birds eye view of his neighbours arriving for Sunday service. If he sits through the service this week, waiting to see if Jared arrives late or leaves with the crowd after, it’s only because he’s still curious about where Jared belongs and how he fits into Elm Bay. Not because he wants to see Jared again. But there’s no sign of him among the congregation. Jensen wonders if he’s a non-believer; an unusual and unwelcome thing in Elm Bay.

On Monday, he decides to take one of the longer routes he’s found over the years. It leads him back away from the shore, past and around town and out into the hills. He forces himself not to linger on the beach, setting out relatively early into a perfect spring day. Glorying in the stretch in the back of his legs as he climbs the biggest hill around the town, he pauses for a moment to take in the vista in front of him.

From this altitude, he can see the town spread out below, and the sea beyond. The ribbon of the town beach is bright in the sunlight, tiny white waves cresting softly. If he looks further and squints a bit, he can see the shadow of his own house hidden in the trees, steps away from the dunes.

He heads down once he’s had a chance to cool off, snapping photos here and there of flowers pushing through the soil. He spots a rabbit at one point, bounding through a field, and captures the moment it hops, legs extending out behind it. He’s thinking about that shot as he walks back along the quieter road that bypasses town, about how best to edit it and whether he could have reacted differently to get something even better.

Driveways extend off the road, leading to the homes of the few people who live close to town rather than on farms or homesteads. Jensen’s not paying attention as he walks; there’s just the usual background hum of hoping he doesn’t run into anyone. A couple of cars zip past him, mothers picking their kids up from the pre-school in the next town.

Barking disrupts his happy reverie once again; a familiar boom that Jensen immediately categorises as ‘Harley’. Jensen looks around, worried that the dog might be running free, but Harley is at the top of the nearest driveway, tail wagging madly.

Conflicted, Jensen decides that he should check Harley isn’t free to roam. Harley falls into step beside him as he makes his way up the driveway, licking at his hand as he bounces along. The driveway curves, bringing the house into view, a huge old wooden structure, porch wrapped around it and paint fraying at the edges. Sadie sits serenely on the front steps, tail wagging lazily. There’s a car outside and as Jensen approaches, he realises that Jared is buried in the trunk, bent double as he tries to pull something out.

“Fuck,” Jared exclaims, stumbling backwards.

Jensen’s body tenses as Jared tries again to pull something out of the car. Jared’s clearly struggling; something slides out of his hands as Jensen watches. Jensen twitches in place for a moment; debating a quick retreat before Jared sees him, but politeness wins out over his anxiety for once.

Careful to wait until Jared’s not in danger of banging his head, he kicks at a rock on the driveway, watching it clatter across the stone. Jared spins around, almost falling over his own feet.

“What the- Oh, hey Jensen,” he says, dimples popping out. “How are you? Nice day, huh?”

He doesn’t expect a response, turning back to his car, and it makes Jensen feel less on edge. Most people either ask him endless questions, hoping to provoke a response and waiting in silence until Jensen leaves, or ignore him entirely, as if he’s not capable of understanding. He likes that Jared chatters away without expecting a response.

Walking over, he stands beside Jared and peers into the trunk. To his shock, there’s a brand new toilet in the back. He turns to face Jared, incredulous.

“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna install it in the house; but I’m having trouble getting it out of the car by myself.”

Jensen’s not surprised. It’s clearly a two- man job. Rolling his eyes, he reaches into the trunk and tries to get a grasp on the toilet.

“Oh, ok,” Jared says, sounding surprised. “Right. That’ll make this a lot easier.”

It’s still awkward as hell. It’s not particularly heavy, but there’s no good way to hold onto the toilet, and it slips and slides in Jensen’s hands as they make their uncoordinated way into the house. They pause inside the front door to regroup, not helped by the dogs nosing about underfoot.

“Harley, Sadie, scat,” Jared says, trying for firm. The dogs ignore him. “We’ve gotta get it upstairs, I’m sorry.”

Jensen rolls his eyes again. Of course they do. But he lets Jared take the lead, walking backwards up the stairs as Jensen follows, the one in danger if they drop it. There are a couple of close calls, but they make it safe to the landing and then the bathroom is the first door on the left.

“Thank you so much,” Jared says effusively once they’ve set it down. “You have no idea how much easier that made my life.”

Jensen blushes. “No worries,” he says softly, the words slipping out easily.

Jared’s head whips around, his eyes wide. He stares for a fraction of a second and then turns back, contemplating the toilet with his hands on his hips.

“Now that the easy bit is done, I just have to install the damn thing. I don’t suppose you want to stay and help?”

Jensen thinks about what he’d normally be doing that afternoon. There’s tidying to do, and cooking, of course, and today is laundry day. And then there’s his picture of the rabbit to edit, something he’d been looking forward to up until a few minutes ago.

“I promise it’ll be so much fun,” Jared wheedles, laughter in his voice.

Jensen shrugs. “Ok,” he says.

***

Jared chatters away all afternoon as he switches out the old, grimy toilet for the new, shiny version they’d carried in. Jensen worries, initially, that now that he’s said a few words Jared will expect a full, two way conversation at all times. It’s happened in the past, people thinking he’s miraculously cured of his shyness and anxiety because they’ve coaxed a thank you out of him. But Jared treats him exactly as he had before, talking as if Jensen were a part of the conversation but expecting nothing from him.

“So I’m here to check in on my Grandpa,” Jared explains, as they unscrew the old bowl. “He’s getting on and my mom is worried about him. She sent me out here until the end of summer so I could see how he’s doing for more than a couple of days.”

Jensen nods. He’s seen Art around town the last few years, usually popping in to Reillys for a late afternoon whiskey or walking along the seafront. He’s definitely got more frail in the past year; he’s not surprised Jared’s mom is worried.

“I finished up college after Christmas. Graduated early. Not sure what I want to do, to be honest,” Jared confesses as they make sure the pipework is free of blockages - definitely one of Jensen’s least favourite handyman tasks ever.

“Got lots to do around here for the next couple of months. Grandpa’s let this place run wild a bit.” They heave the new toilet into place. “I’m pretty handy, and Mom made him agree a budget for me to fix it up. Told him it would keep me out of trouble.”

“Do you need keeping out of trouble?”

The question slips out before Jensen can catch it, his mind lulled into security by Jared’s chatter.

Jared winks at him. “Well, my mom might think I do. I don’t think she was thrilled by what I got up to at college, and she didn’t know the half of it.”

Jensen tilts his head, a silent request for more information.

“Oh, I don’t hand out all my secrets, just like that.” Jared wiggles his eyebrows. He looks so ridiculous, Jensen snorts with laughter.

“I like it when you make that sound,” Jared says. He reaches over and rests the tip of a dirty finger against the corner of Jensen’s eyes. “You get these little crinkles, here.”

Jensen bats the finger away, rubbing at his face.

“Adorable,” Jared pronounces. Jensen glares.

***

“Come and have a beer with me,” Jared says, once the toilet is in place, flushed and fully tested. He’s rosy with sweat, drops pouring forth from a particular spot on his chest, his t-shirt sticking to his back; but he’s also glowing with pride. “We should celebrate the demise of this disgusting old toilet.”

Shooting a look at filthy old unit in the corner, Jensen fervently agrees that celebration is in order. He can imagine how pleased Jared is to never have to use it again.

But still. He’s not much of a drinker and even less of a socialiser; this is the most he’s been around another human in years, probably. It already feels overwhelming. He’s learnt so much about Jared that he wants to go away and process. Jared has given him so much information this afternoon that he wants to sit down and examine each piece, press it into the puzzle that is Jared.

“You don’t have to stay long,” Jared says. “Just one beer; help me celebrate before my Grandpa comes home and I have to spend an hour reassuring him that this one functions the same and that fixing something before it’s completely broken isn’t an inherent failure.”

Jared’s eyes have grown huge, appearing at least twice their normal size, and Jensen would swear the other man’s lip is trembling. It’s impossible to say no.

“Ok” he replies. “Just one.”

Jared’s face transforms into sunshine, a wide smile revealing dimples at either side. “C’mon then,” he says. “The garden is beautiful at this time of day. I’ll clear this up later.”

Jensen follows him downstairs, eyes darting from side to side as he takes in the house. The decor is traditional; all old wood, grimy lace curtains and cluttered surfaces. Dust rests thickly in places as they trek through to the kitchen. To his surprise, a brand new fridge sits next to what looks like the stove that might have been built into the original house; the gleam of the stainless steel doors reflecting poorly on the muted, caked grime of the stovetop.

“I’m working on it,” Jared says, seeing Jensen look around. “He doesn’t want to change anything. You should’ve seen the fridge that was here before. I’m not prissy and even I could barely bring myself to touch it. I don’t think it had been cleaned out since my mom was here last summer. I think there were things growing inside it.” Jared shivers dramatically, muscles rippling across his body. Reaching into the new fridge to pull out two beers, he sighs. “Ah, cool air feels good! Didn’t realise we’d worked up such a sweat.”

Jensen looks down at himself, alarmed at the thought that Jared can see as much of his body as he can see of Jared’s through the almost translucent t-shirt. But Jensen hasn’t worked nearly as hard and he’s reassured that he hasn’t sweated through his shirt.

“You ok with a lager?” Jared asks. “I drank all the other good stuff, need to do another shopping run.”

Jensen nods, following Jared out of the back door. The garden beyond is sizeable; stretching away to a dilapidated shed in the distance. Freshly cut grass, short and soft, contrasts with overgrown bushes and wild hedges at the edges, a thornbush threatening one of the fences.

“Yeah,” Jared says with a grimace. “I got the grass to the point where we could go outside. It was practically waist high, and my waist is pretty high.” He looks ridiculously pleased with himself for a moment before continuing. “But I haven’t tackled the rest yet. Kinda felt like some of the other stuff is more pressing.”

_What stuff?_ Jensen wants to ask, but the words get stuck in his throat. Jared must see the question in his eyes, because he continues. “The kitchen needs doing. I can do some of it myself; got a new washing machine coming and I can plumb that in; lord knows my mom taught me how to deep clean something, too. I can put some new cupboards and shelves in as well, make things easier for Grandpa to reach. But the stove - Imma have to get someone in to replace that thing. And as it stands, I hate even looking at it, never mind cooking on it. I think it still has scalded milk from my mom’s baby bottles burnt onto it.”

There’s that shudder again, goosebumps prickling along Jared’s tan skin now that they’re outside in the cooler air. They settle on the steps from the patio to the grass, Jared sprawling out immediately in the same way he had at the beach, long legs reaching out in front of him and his head tipped back. It’s like he’s aware of how much space he takes up and doesn’t care. Jensen’s much more used to occupying as little space as possible in public and he can’t help but be a little awed at Jared’s casual confidence.

“Mrs Tay says you live at what used to be your grandparents house too,” Jared says, for the first time pausing, as if he’s waiting for an answer. When Jensen doesn’t reply he continues. “I guess we’ve got that in common. You’re good at all this handyman stuff, too. Did you do a lot of work on your house?”

Jensen nods. The house had been in much better condition when he’d arrived back in Elm Bay than this house, but he’d still worked hard to make it into somewhere he wanted to live. It had been a welcome distraction in those first few months, painting and sanding and building new furniture. Even more importantly, people had respected that the time needed to do it meant that he wouldn’t be in town often, and it had helped set the tone for the way he interacts with his neighbours ever since.

“Maybe you can help me out some more,” Jared says with a grin. “I’m pretty good at this stuff, but there’s always room for someone else’s expertise.” He looks at Jensen hopefully.

Jensen doesn’t know what to say. He wants to help Jared more; truthfully, he wants any excuse to be in Jared’s company. And he likes practical jobs, enjoys the challenge of them. But at the same time, he doesn’t understand why Jared wants him around. He’s silent and boring; surely someone as friendly as Jared has a lot of other options.

Worse is the feeling rising in his chest, the panicky sensation that Jared will want more of him, more than Jensen is able to give. He’s worried that if he agrees, if he makes plans to spend whole days with Jared, working on Art’s house, that Jared will expect Jensen to be able to function normally; to crack jokes and banter and share information in the way that Jensen knows normal people do. That fear is what makes him nervous about every weekly shopping trip; what makes him restrict his contact with his agent to sparse emails; what makes him avoid the town on all of his walking routes. It’s best that people don’t get their hopes up; especially Jared, who Jensen already knows he can’t bear to disappoint.

Something must show on his face, because Jared adds softly, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” His eyes flicker down, long lashes touching his cheek above the little beauty mark at the side of his nose.

Jensen wants to scream. This is exactly why he doesn’t want to interact with people; it’s too complicated and he doesn’t understand the rules.

“Maybe,” he whispers. It’s the best he can do at the moment; the feeling in his chest is getting worse, panic tingling out to where his fingers are clenched tight around his beer bottle.

Jared’s head whips up, eyes bright. “Ok,” he says. “Maybe I can swing by the beach sometimes with the dogs and let you know if I’ve got anything planned. And then you can decide if you feel like it?” Hope shines from his face, the beaming smile back as Jensen nods. “Ok, that sounds good.”

Jensen tips the last of his beer into his mouth, watching as Jared does the same.

“Want another?” Jared asks. “Or you ready to head home?”

Jensen stands, hoping that’s answer enough.

“Ok, fair. I’ve taken up tons of your time. You want a lift back?”

Jensen shakes his head. The walk will do him good, help him to start clearing his thoughts, so he can understand what’s happened today. He heads inside, putting his bottle neatly by the trash before walking through to the front door. Harley and Sadie crowd around his legs, clearly hoping for a walk.

“Not today, guys,” Jared says, grasping their collars firmly. “Jensen’s off home. We’ll see him in a couple of days, though. Right?”

This last is aimed at Jensen, who nods.

“Sweet. Have a nice evening, Jensen. Thanks for your help.” Jared punches him lightly on the shoulder, a casual gesture Jensen sees all the time but hasn’t experienced in years. It tingles lightly, warmth flowing down his arms.

Jensen walks down the driveway, the dogs whining in the doorway behind him as Jared waves. He can still feel the panic, the sense of being completely overwhelmed, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to stop them trembling. There’s so much of Jared he has to think about after today, so much information to process, so many observations he has to ponder. He already knows he won’t get much done over the next couple of days.

He wonders when he’ll see Jared again.

***

It’s longer than Jensen wants before he sees Jared again, which is a revelation in and of itself. Jensen sits on the beach every morning, his usual walks shortened as a result. As the weather gets warmer, he takes his laptop out onto the beach in the afternoon, pretending to work as he strains his ears for barks. His sleep suffers as he thinks about everything he’s learnt about Jared.

He wonders if he should make the effort, now that he knows where Jared lives; if he should walk into town and knock on Jared’s door, offer to assist with whatever the day’s chore is. But he can’t bring himself to do it, still convinced that Jared doesn’t want his company.

So it’s four long days before he sees Jared. The dogs appear first, barking at the freedom to roam across the beach. Harley hurtles forwards, kicking up sand as he passes Jensen, running straight into the water; while Sadie follows more slowly, dancing with delight when she spots him.

By the time Jared crests the dunes, late afternoon sunlight streaming around him, Sadie’s curled in Jensen’s lap again, huffing happily as he scratches behind her ears. Jensen’s laptop is abandoned to the side, his hastily-saved photos shut down and hidden away. He’s never shown them to someone he knows.

“Jensen!” Jared says, cheerfully. “I hoped you’d be here!”

He looks summery, Jensen thinks inanely; arms bursting out of a short-sleeved shirt, jeans rolled up around his ankles. There’s paint speckled up his arms, a dash on his cheek too, while the bare tops of his feet are almost covered.

“How are you?” He plops down and continues without waiting for an answer. “Been so busy, Jen. I painted that manky bathroom, and the guest room I’m living in. Look at the state of me!”

Jensen does look, but with unseeing eyes; his brain still stuck on the casual nickname.

“Definitely time for a break,” Jared says. “Before I even start with that kitchen.”

Jensen can only imagine. The kitchen will need a lot of work.

“Would be great to have a helper,” Jared says, wheedling. “Someone to pass me tools and bring me cold drinks. Maybe someone who knows even more about this stuff than I do. Would be ace.” He nudges Jensen’s shoulder, making his intent clear.

Jensen’s surprised by the surge of pleasure that runs through him at the thought that Jared wants his help. He smiles shyly at Jared.

“Great.” Jared beams back at him. “But not today. Today is for chilling.” He pauses. “Don’t take this the wrong way. And you can totally say no. But…”

He tails off, the most uncertain Jensen’s ever seen him.

“But I brought us a few drinks. This is such a beautiful spot. I thought it might be nice to sit out here and relax.”

Jensen’s never done that before. He’s never shared his beach with someone to enjoy their company. But with Jared, it feels less intimidating than it would with anyone else.

“Sounds good,” he says.

***

It takes Jared a while to summon the energy to collect his rucksack full of drinks. Jensen watches as he visibly decompresses, energy flowing from his body until he’s mellow and soft. “Be right back,” he says, eventually. Long legs disappear over the dune, eating up the incline.

A bottle drops down into the sand, announcing Jared’s return, before those legs fold down beside him.

“I brought a few bottles of beer for us. But I also brought a bottle of whisky I snagged from Art, because you seem like a whisky man, somehow.”

Jared pops the cap on a bottle of beer and hands it to Jensen. It’s better quality than the other day, a craft brew he’s never seen before. He raises an enquiring eyebrow at Jared.

“Don’t mock,” Jared says. “I hate that shit lager. I go to the big superstore once a week to stock up on bulk foods so I pick up better beer when I’m there as well.”

Jensen definitely wasn’t mocking. He’s not much of a drinker, but even he can tell this tastes far superior to the weak beer they’d had before.

“This is better,” he manages, his need to reassure Jared helping him to get the words out. It’s worth it; the delight on Jared’s face warms him inside.

“You have good taste in beer,” Jared says, smug. “Let’s see about the whisky. If it’s shit, we’ll blame Grandpa.”

He twists off the cap and raises it to his lips, then pauses. “I didn’t bring any glasses though, we’ll have to swig and share. That ok?”

Jensen nods. He watches, transfixed, as Jared tips the bottle back and takes a mouthful of the whisky. His throat ripples as he swallows and he pulls the bottle away from wet, shining lips. Throat dry, Jensen reaches for the whisky.

“It’s not as bad as it could be, considering some of the stuff Grandpa drinks,” Jared says, handing it over.

The whisky burns going down, a dark, sour taste that Jensen’s never experienced before. It scalds his throat, stealing his breath; he looks up, eyes watering, to see Jared grinning at him.

“Out of practice?” Jared asks, teasing. It sparks something in Jensen, a feeling of competitiveness he hasn’t felt in a long while. With a glare, he takes another mouthful, resisting the urge to cough.

“Alright, alright,” Jared laughs. “Sharesies.”

They sit quietly for a while, trading back and forth. Jensen sips his beer too, the mellower taste helping to dull the burn of the whisky. Jared talks occasionally, little updates on what he’s done in the house or how his Grandpa is taking having a permanent house guest that make Jensen smile.

“Your house is behind the dunes, right?” Jared says. Jensen nods, his head feeling easy on his shoulders. “Maybe I could come see it one day?”

Jensen frowns. He’s never had a visitor that wasn’t on a delivery or one of the rare occasions when he hadn’t been able to fix something for himself. It’s been at least three years since someone other than him set foot inside his house.

But looking at Jared, he’s not sure why he’d be so worried. Jared’s sprawled against a rock, his body loose and relaxed. He’s not looking at Jensen, waiting for an answer; instead, he’s watching Sadie sniff at a rock pool, a tiny smile twitching at his mouth. There’s no pressure from Jared, not ever; since the moment they met he’s been content to let Jensen go at his own pace.

Of course, there’s the problem of his photos being on display all over the house. Jensen prints out his favourites; there’s a whole wall of rabbits in his lounge, while his bedroom is filled with otters. There are seascapes and occasional shots of the waterfall outside of town, too. But, he reassures himself, he wouldn’t have to tell Jared he’d taken the photos. He could make sure the copies of the magazines he’s printed in are tucked away before Jared’s visit.

He’s proud of his house. He’s proud of the space he’s created for himself, that so perfectly suits his needs. It would be good to show that off for once.

“Ok,” he says, tongue feeling a bit thick. “I’d like that.”

“Sweet,” Jared says, “I’d like that too.”

Jensen gets lost in Jared’s smile, his own curving in return.

***

By the time Jensen finishes his second beer, he feels blurry. Of course, he’s had several swigs of the whisky too, so maybe that’s what’s causing the problem. Or maybe it’s the shine of Jared’s teeth in the encroaching dark, he can’t be sure.

He thinks he should probably be cold. The sun has long since set, the twinkle of stars above them and the gleam of the almost-full moon providing the only light; it’s still early enough in the year for the temperature to drop after dark. But Jensen feels warm, his skin tingling, especially where Jared’s gaze trails across it.

“Here,” Jared says, handing him another bottle. Jensen reaches out, but his hand sails past it, not connecting properly. He tries again, but Jared must be moving the bottle because he can’t quite get at it. He giggles, swiping again.

“Oh crap,” Jared says. “Jensen, when was the last time you had this much to drink?”

Jensen’s tongue feels fuzzy, but oddly enough his words come out fine. “Never,” he says happily. “I’ve never. I like the beer. Not so keen on the whisky.”

Jared looks somewhere between appalled and amused. “But you’ve had quite a lot of it,” he says, on the edge of his own giggles.

“I liked sharing,” Jensen replies. It’s true. He’d enjoyed drinking what Jared had drunk.

Drunk, he thinks, like a lightbulb switching on. Drunk, drunk, drunk. This is what it feels like.

Jared’s staring at him, eyes intent. Up close, they’re a multitude of colours; Jensen’s wanted to try and capture them on camera since he first saw Jared. He reaches out for them.

His hand connects with Jared’s face, tracing across his cheekbone. He’s careful not to poke Jared in his pretty eyes, but he’s keen to get as close to them as possible, and he keeps his own eyes wide to make sure he doesn’t miss anything.

“Christ,” Jared says, low and deep, the heat on his cheeks visible even in the low light. His hand comes up and grasps Jensen’s wrist, sending shockwaves down his arm, and pulls it away gently. “Not now, Jen,” he says. His thumb strokes for a minute against Jensen’s wrist, a feather-soft touch that reverberates right through Jensen’s body.

“I think we’d better get you back to yours,” he says, pulling back. “I guess I’m gonna get the chance to do that visit now.” He stands and extends a hand to Jensen.

There’s a long moment while Jensen stares, unsure what to do. This isn’t his usual understanding of handshakes. But Jared eventually wiggles his hand, opening and closing the fist, and Jensen reaches out for it just to stop it moving about in front of his eyes.

“There we go,” Jared murmurs. There’s a disorienting heave and Jensen’s on his feet, crashing against Jared’s warm chest. His free hand closes around Jared’s bicep, or rather, it tries to reach all the way around and fails. Jared’s other arm wraps around Jensen’s shoulders, pressing him firm against Jared’s side.

“Right, let’s head back in,” Jared says. “Sadie, Harley, come.”

The dogs come racing up, happy that their human is finally moving. And Jared _is_ moving, tugging Jensen towards the dunes, Jensen stumbling along with him as his feet tangle with each other.

He’s never heard Jared swear so much, he reflects as they make their way up the dune slowly. Jensen sits down a fair few times; it’s always hard work to climb in the sand, and he’s not as fit as Jared. Each time, Jared convinces him to stand again, their hands entwined and at one point, his arm around Jensen’s waist.

They stumble forwards when they reach the top, landing almost flat on their faces, but finally on a horizontal surface. Jensen’s giggling, the laughter pouring out of him, unstoppable; and now that they’re both on the ground, Jared gives in too. Head thrown back, he laughs and laughs and laughs, tears appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“You’re such a great drunk,” he tells Jensen, when he’s calmed down. “Really. I never would’ve pegged you to be so giggly.”

Jensen cocks his head, wondering if that’s a compliment, but he doesn’t have time to pursue the thought before Jared is pulling him to his feet again.

“You’re gonna have to do some of the work here, Jen,” Jared says seriously. “Because I’ve never been to your house before and it’s fucking dark.”

Jensen’s too caught up on the nickname, _again_ , to worry about replying. “It’s over there,” he says, gesturing left. “Follow the path.”

“What fucking path,” Jared mutters, but he firms his arm around Jensen’s shoulders and tugs them forwards.

It takes them a while to get to the house. Jensen’s not sure why. About halfway there, he realises that he can hold the hand Jared has slung over his shoulder; he immediately tangles their fingers together, scrubbing at the paint flakes on Jared’s palm.

“Jesus,” Jared murmurs. “Who’d have thought you’d be such a touchy-feely drunk.” It’s so low Jensen can barely hear it, and he doesn’t bother to reply.

His front door looms in front of them abruptly, the dark green paint melding into the night. “Keys?” Jared asks, patting at Jensen’s pockets.

Jensen snorts and pushes the door open. It swings so wildly that he pitches forwards, Jared’s hands saving him from crashing into the coat stand.

Jared’s grip on his shoulders shifts down, landing on his hips, and then sweeping upwards until he’s pressed back to Jared’s chest, Jared’s wide palm covering his heart. “Careful,” Jared murmurs, mouth so close to his ear that Jensen can feel the warmth. Jared walks him forwards like that, the added stability welcome as Harley and Sadie push past them, eager to explore new smells.

“Where’s your bed?” Jared asks. He keeps walking them forwards into the lounge, keeping Jensen steady against him.

“Not sleepy,” Jensen insists, although he does think that sitting down might be a good idea.

“You’re positively chatty like this,” Jared mutters. “Not sleepy my ass. Give me the tour then.”

He goes to pull away and Jensen can’t help himself; he leans back, searching out Jared’s warmth. Jared stumbles a bit but his arms wrap themselves back around Jensen’s chest and Jensen murmurs contentedly.

“Bedroom,” Jared says firmly. Jensen raises his arm, pointing grandly in roughly the right direction.

“Right, c’mon giggly. Let’s take a look.”

They make their way across the lounge slowly, Jared navigating them around the sofa and Jensen’s favourite handmade coffee table. He pushes the bedroom door open with his shoulder, pulling Jensen inside.

“Bingo,” he says. There are another couple of slow steps across the room until Jensen’s knees collide with his bed. “Sit down,” Jared says, dropping Jensen on the bed. He bounces lightly, his stomach bouncing harder than the rest of him.

“This room is beautiful, Jen,” Jared says, looking at the huge, floor length windows. “Bet you get an amazing view.”

Jensen hums. He definitely does, although it’s very dark outside now and he’s not sure entirely when that happened. “Too dark now,” he informs Jared.

“No shit,” Jared says, laughing. “C’mon, let’s get your shoes off.” He starts pulling at Jensen’s boots, and then helps Jensen get his hoodie over his head when Jensen gets inexplicably tangled in it. “Stay there for a moment. I’m gonna get you some water.”

Jensen leans back as Jared leaves the room, the ceiling getting further and further away until his back makes contact with the bed. The sheets are soft against the bare skin of his arms and he wiggles them about, enjoying the sensation until Jared pushes the door open again, Sadie at his heels.

“Let’s get some of this in you,” Jared says gently, pulling Jensen back into a sitting position. The world goes swirly for a moment, everything pitching about, before Jensen finds himself propped against Jared’s chest. “Drink.”

Jensen takes a few gulps of water before pushing Jared’s hands away. He can feel it trickling down his throat, settling uncomfortably in his belly. Jared’s patient with him, making him take a few more sips, before Jensen clamps his mouth shut.

“Ok, guess you’re done,” Jared says, amused. Jensen notices the ceiling receding again before his head finds the pillow. Somehow, he ends up all snuggly under the blankets, the water placed carefully within view.

He’s not sleepy, but his eyes start drifting shut all the same, feeling heavier than they ever have before. He wants to stay awake, to understand the implications of Jared in his house, but he can’t help himself.

He feels something pass through his hair, smoothing it down. “This is insane,” he hears, murmured somewhere above him, before his eyes sink shut.

***

Jensen does not feel like he normally does when he wakes the next morning.

He’s never a big fan of waking up, but this is another level of horror. The light from his open curtains stabs at his eyes, while his mouth feels furry and a lead weight has settled in his stomach. He’s under his covers but when he tries to move, his limbs are restricted by the fact that he’s still wearing his clothes and even that small movement sets the lead weight swinging wildly inside him. He settles back for a moment, assessing why things are so different.

Jared, he remembers. Jared and whisky and beer.

_Jared in his house._

That’s enough to propel him upwards, his legs tangling in the covers while the world moves more slowly than his head. It takes a moment to regain his equilibrium when he’s upright, the cool air feeling unpleasant on his unusually sticky skin. Once his eyes feel like they’re in the right place, he spots the water sitting on his bedside table and reaches out gratefully. He knocks his book onto the floor as he grasps the glass, but whatever, the water is sliding cool down his throat into his stomach, helping to alleviate the dryness of his mouth.

A knock on his bedroom door makes him startle so much he spills the rest of the water on his bed. He stares at the door, aghast that there’s someone else in his house, even if it is most probably Jared, and unsure what to do about it.

“Jen, can I come in?” It’s definitely Jared.

Jensen has no idea what to do. He doesn’t understand why Jared is still here, or whether he should let Jared come into his room, or why he feels so deeply, deeply shitty. He gets caught up on that last thought, on the misery pulsing through every part of his body. Jared will make it feel better, he thinks inanely, and that’s what pushes him to answer.

“Yes,” he croaks.

The door pushes open slowly, Jared’s head peeping around the side. He looks adorable; his hair is fluffy and wild, eyes and skin bright; the exact opposite of how Jensen feels.

He smiles when he sees Jensen is sitting up. “How are you doing, Jen?” There’s mirth in his voice, barely concealed, and Jensen glares at him.

Jared laughs, joy filling the room. “Ok, fair enough.” He moves towards Jensen. “I helped myself to your shower, I hope you don’t mind. I was all paint-y and rank.”

Jensen’s mind threatens to short circuit at the thought of Jared in his shower, but he manages to push the thought away.

“You’ll feel better if you have a shower too,” Jared suggests, perching on end of the bed away from the massive puddle. “I can make some breakfast while you’re in there, if you want?”

Jensen sits silently for a moment, trying to process. He’s not at his best in the mornings anyway, and here is Jared, being so nice, but rustling about in Jensen’s space and disrupting his routine. And there’s been no coffee yet.

That thought is enough to get him moving.

“Coffee,” he says, standing up. He wavers on his feet and Jared catches his elbow with a grin.

“Shower first. I’ll have coffee waiting when you come out. Trust me.” He smiles encouragingly at Jensen, hand warm around Jensen’s bicep.

That’s what this all comes down to. Trusting Jared.

It’s too much for Jensen to compute before coffee, so he wobbles his way off to the shower with a firm glare at Jared that he hopes communicates his need for coffee to be waiting for him when he comes back out.

***

Jensen doesn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed that Jared was right. He does feel more human after showering; his body feels refreshed, no longer sticky with sweat, and it helps to calm the ache in his head as well. He resolutely does not think about the previous visitor to his shower; concentrating on getting himself clean rather than looking for minute paint flakes or thinking about whether Jared had used his soap.

_Would Jared smell like his shampoo now?_

The thought presents itself with a hot curl that’s far more pleasant than anything else going on in Jensen’s stomach, but he pushes it away. He can’t think of things like that; he can’t go down that road.

When he makes his way towards his kitchen, still scrubbing a hand through his hair to help dry it out, there’s a cup of coffee waiting for him on the table, steaming gently. Jared’s standing facing the stove, poking at something in a pan.

He picks up the coffee and sniffs curiously.

“I took a guess,” Jared says, without turning around. “Strong, black, no sugar. Did I get it right?”

Jensen nods, and then because gratitude is pouring through him, he pushes himself to answer properly. “Yes, perfect.”

“I knew it. I knew you’d be all manly and I don’t take sugar and shit.” Jared laughs, wide shoulders shaking a little. “I take mine with sugar. I poked around a bit, but I couldn’t find any and I didn’t want to go through all your cupboards. You got any?”

Jensen reaches into the back of his dried goods cupboard and pulls out a small, sealed jar, kept for the rare occasions he wants to make himself something sweet.

“Oh thank fuck,” Jared says. “I was afraid I was gonna have to go without.”

He’s so appalled that Jensen can’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad,” he says, offended on behalf of his own cup.

“It’s disgusting,” Jared insists.

They glare at each other for a moment, each passionate about their coffee preferences, before Jared laughs again. “Anyway,” he says. “I see you’re feeling a bit better. Told you so.” He sticks out his tongue. “I’m making pancakes and bacon. It’ll be ready in a minute; sit down before you fall down.”

Jensen wants to protest on principle, to say that he feels fine; but it would be an outright lie. He sits down at the table and props his head on his hand, finding it hard to keep his thoughts in one place. Jared bustles about, flipping pancakes and mixing up more batter, adding a new one to the growing pile to his left every few minutes. He’s relaxed and efficient, his hips swaying as he moves, as if he’s dancing along to an invisible beat.

There’s a picture on the wall in front of him, one of Jensen’s shots of the bay. Jensen looks around at the others scattered through the kitchen, arranged in random patterns across his walls. Jared doesn’t pay the photo in front of him much attention, but Jensen can’t help but wonder if he’s seen it, if he likes it. He’s certainly not going to bring up that it’s his. But he desperately wants to know Jared’s opinion.

“Right, that’s it. Just the bacon now,” Jared says, putting one last pancake on the pile. He turns around to face Jensen, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Look, this is awkward,” he begins.

The lead weight is back in Jensen’s stomach, dropping further in his gut and making him feel sick. He’s trying to avoid the fact that he can’t quite remember everything about last night, and he’s sure that he’d done something terrible.

“These clothes are gross,” Jared says. “They’ve got paint on them and I walked here in them yesterday and then I slept in them. I don’t suppose I could borrow something clean?”

It’s so far away from what Jensen was expecting that he gapes, mouth dropped open and coffee splashing across his fingers. Jared’s blush deepens and he turns away.

“It’s fine, don’t worry. It’s not urgent. I’ll head home after breakfast and get something clean there.”

Jensen’s brain catches up. “No, it’s… it’s fine,” he sputters. “I’ll just…” He stands abruptly, knocking the chair over behind him. Jared whips around at the noise and for a moment, they’re caught in each other’s eyes, both a matching shade of crimson.

Jensen manages to move first. He crooks his fingers at Jared, heading back towards his room and Jared follows with an alacrity that’s extremely pleasing for reasons Jensen doesn’t quite understand.

Pulling open his drawer, he tries to look for something that will fit Jared’s much longer frame. He eventually settles on a old tshirt, stretched bigger than it started; and hopes that the pair of shorts he hands Jared will be less obviously short than any of his trousers.

He hands them to Jared, who stands in front of him, clutching the new outfit. There’s another moment of painful, awkward silence; Jensen has no idea what to do next.

“Um, maybe you could go and keep an eye on the bacon and I’ll just…?” The flush has spread down Jared’s neck now and Jensen idly wonders how far down it goes, before pushing the thought away. Of course he should leave the room. That’s the obvious action, that anyone capable of normal interaction would think of.

Hanging his head, he hurries from the room. The bacon is still crackling merrily in the frying pan and he sinks back into his chair, spiralling into anxiety. Jared must be so uncomfortable around someone so awkward. He was probably mortified that he had to ask Jensen to leave and oh god, maybe he thought Jensen expected him to undress then and there.

He’s so sure that Jared will leave without coming back to the kitchen that he jumps out of his chair when Jared walks past him to the stove.

“Breakfast’s ready,” Jared announces cheerfully, looking distinctly un-mortified. He splits the bacon onto two plates and puts the stack of pancakes down in the middle of the table, a bottle of maple syrup beside it. Jensen’s shirt stretches across his shoulders as he turns to rifle in the fridge, pulling out the carton of orange juice with a flourish. Jensen’s distracted by everything - by the way Jared looks in his clothes and the fact that Jared’s so comfortable in Jensen’s kitchen so quickly - that he ignores the food in front of him.

“Eat up,” Jared says gently, placing a glass of orange juice on the table in front of him. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” His hand hovers above Jensen for a moment, fingers twitching, before he takes his own seat.

Summoning all his willpower, Jensen drags his gaze away from Jared and picks up his fork.

***

“Are these yours?” Jared asks, standing in front of one of Jensen’s gallery walls as Jensen washes up.

Jensen’s head jerks around, heart pounding. He didn’t think Jared would realise.

His distress must show on his face, because Jared smiles encouragingly. “I just… I saw the camera in the study this morning, when I was looking for the bathroom. These are so beautiful, Jen. Are they yours?”

He’s peering at a picture of a mother elk, the wobbling of her baby’s legs evident even in the still frame. The sun is dawning behind them, giving them an almost ethereal glow, a peacefulness that calms Jensen every time he sees the photo. It’s one of the shots Jensen is most proud of, and also one that had received quite a big commission - not always the same photos.

Jensen’s still filled with doubt, though. He’s never told anyone what he does or discussed his photos with anyone; he’s never even met his agent face to face.

“Seriously, if these were mine, I would be so proud.”

Jensen peeps up to see Jared looking at him intently. He steps towards Jensen, hand reaching out until it settles on Jensen’s shoulder. “Listen, Jen. I know you’re private, that you don’t like to share a lot of stuff with people. But you know I’d never judge you, right? If these are your photos, I wanna know more about how you take them, how you make them so beautiful.” He squeezes, warmth radiating outwards from the touch. “But you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” He smiles a tiny, sweet smile at Jensen, probably meant to be reassuring; but it hurts Jensen’s heart.

“I do want to,” Jensen blurts. He pauses and the smile grows encouraging. “They’re mine. I mean, the photos are mine. I take them.” And edit them and labour over them and worry back and forth over which to send to his agent, but Jensen can’t even begin to vocalise that yet.

“They’re amazing. Can I watch you taking them sometime?”

Jensen flashes back to his earlier thoughts about taking photos of Jared; how it would be different from nature shots and how he’d try to get Jared to pose. He doesn’t think he can have his camera out around Jared and not give in to the temptation.

But as with everything else to do with his new friend, he ignores his better judgement.

“Ok.”

***

Jensen’s a mixture of sad and relieved when Jared leaves early in the afternoon. He’s still not feeling great, his stomach churning and his body occasionally breaking out in sweat, and there’s relief in having his space back. He’s never deviated so far from his daily routine before and he can use his afternoon to get back on track, recoup his day.

But at the same time, his house feels empty now, the silence oppressive in a way it’s never been before. Jared hadn’t been loud, but he was apparently unable to sit still and he’d pottered around, his footsteps shuffling across the wooden floor, picking things up, looking at Jensen’s pictures and staring out of the back window at the sea view.

“I’ve gotta check on Grandpa. And crack on with the kitchen,” Jared had said, rounding up Harley and Sadie from where they’d been lounging on Jensen’s back porch. “But I’ll come back in a couple of days maybe? I’ll wash these and bring them back. And you could show me the camera stuff?”

He plucks at the hem of the t-shirt as he talks, drawing Jensen’s attention to the fact that it barely skims the waistband of the shorts. Jensen’s attention had drifted down (again), taking in how much more lean, muscled leg there appeared to be when Jared was wearing the shorts compared to when Jensen had them on.

“Jen?” Jared had asked. “Are you ok with me coming back? I can drop your clothes off with Mrs Tay if you’d rather I didn’t?”

Jensen’s attention snapped back to Jared’s face. “No, come back,” he’d said. Jared had beamed at him, his dimples popping out.

So now Jensen is trying to continue with his day, making sure that all his tidying and cleaning is done before sitting down with his laptop to finish editing some particularly tricky photos. But his mind is in turmoil alongside his still sensitive stomach and he finds his attention wandering. He thinks about what it had been like to have Jared in his space. What it will be like to have Jared alongside him as he takes photos. What it will be like to wear those clothes again, knowing Jared’s worn them.

After the fifth time he finds himself staring unseeing out of his window, completely unaware of the stripes of orange light spilling across the water from a spectacular sunset, he gives up and takes himself off for a nap. He’ll catch up tomorrow.

And hopefully, by the day after, Jared will be back.

***

It’s another two days before Jensen hears the loud barking that presages Jared’s arrival, late in the afternoon as the sun is approaching the horizon. Harley comes bounding up to the house, this time, instead of taking the turn for the beach, and almost bowls Jensen over with his enthusiasm. Sadie’s not far behind, loping along in Harley’s thunderous wake and by the time Jared appears on the path, Jensen is once again buried under a pile of happy dogs.

The breeze whips Jared’s hair up into wild tufts as he walks towards the house and Jensen wonders how best to capture that on film, whether he’d be able to highlight the exact way that Jared’s hair dances about with a life of its own.

“Hey, Jen,” Jared says, as cheerful as ever. “Brought your stuff back. All clean like I promised. Doesn’t even smell of dog.” Jensen squashes the little spark of disappointment he feels. “I’ve been working ridiculously hard the last couple of days, so I thought maybe we could have a drink again?”

Jensen can’t control his recoil and Jared laughs.

“Not whisky,” he says. “Just a couple of beers. I didn’t bring enough to get us drunk, I promise.” He brandishes the bag where Jensen can now see a six-pack alongside the promised clothes. “It’s been really, really shitty. I cleaned that kitchen, Jen. I deserve a beer.” His eyes widen to a terrifying extent, lip threatening to wobble. It sets off a feeling of minor panic in Jensen’s chest, the thought of Jared in distress clamouring deep within him.

“Only if you promise I won’t feel the same way again,” he says, as threateningly as he can while trying to contain his anxiety.

“I promise,” Jared chirps, beaming smile back in place.

The panic in Jensen’s chest recedes, replaced by the now-familiar feeling of having his world turned upside down by Jared.

***

They settle on Jensen’s back porch this time, the dogs snuffling happily around Jensen’s little garden before settling at their feet. Jared sprawls out on the porch swing, while Jensen perches awkwardly in the chair next to his little table, twirling his beer between his fingers. He listens as Jared chatters about his work on the house and an update from his mom, as astounded as ever about how easy he finds it to be with Jared, how little Jared demands from him.

“So can I see your camera?” Jared asks, after a pause. “Or do I have to wait till we go out into nature or something?”

Jensen thinks. There’s nothing he would normally be shooting here. They’re too far away from the beach to make for good shots of the ocean and the dogs will keep any small animals away. He could take photos of the dogs themselves, of course; but he doubts he’s going to get good shots of them curled up and drooling under Jared’s feet.

But then there’s Jared.

Jared, who he’s wanted to see in the lens of his camera from the moment he first saw him. Jared, whose eyes change colour every second, whose hair is wild in the wind and whose graceful hands fly about as he tells stories. Jensen wants to capture all of that and more; but he’s too shy to ask, and far too afraid that his skill will fail when presented with all the unique parts of Jared.

“I’ll get us another beer,” Jared says, when Jensen’s been quiet for a while. There’s no hint of recrimination in his voice, no sadness or judgement; he’s accepted Jensen’s silence as a no and is moving on without blame.

It’s enough to tip Jensen into action. The care and acceptance Jared has shown him again and again makes him realise he needs to take this chance, this risk.

“No, I’ll get the beer. And my camera.” He stumbles to his feet, needing to act now before he loses his nerve.

He stumbles towards the kitchen without looking at Jared, pulling two cold beers out of the fridge. His camera bag is set up for the morning in his study and he slings it over his shoulder before heading back out, sliding back into his seat at the table. The sun has finally dipped down below the sea, but there’s still enough dim light for him to see easily, especially with the low gleam of the porch light. It will make for interesting photos; he rarely shoots in the dark as most of the local animals are diurnal.

He can feel Jared’s eyes on him as he pulls the component parts of the camera out of his bag. He won’t need the long lens; just the ordinary one. He screws it on with great concentration, trying not to think about the fact that no one has ever seen him do this before.

“What do you want to take a photo of?” Jared asks, breaking the silence.

Jensen looks up, shrugging. He could take a photo of anything, in theory. The magnolia tree at the end of his garden is in bloom, the pinky-white petals glowing as the moon rises. The rose bushes his grandma planted have grown high this year, silhouetted stark against the gleaming stars, while there’s still a golden tinge to the horizon.

“It’s normally animals, right?” Jared asks.

Jensen nods, switching on the power and starting to fiddle with the settings.

“Harley, Sadie, go see Jensen,” Jared says, nudging the dogs with his foot. They look extremely offended, but after a few more nudges, Sadie pads over to him.

“Hello, girl,” Jensen whispers, echoing the greeting he’s heard Jared give before scratching behind her ears. She gives a contented woof, laying her head on his knee in a request for more pets.

Happy with the settings, Jensen picks up the camera and brings the viewfinder to his eye, peering down at Sadie. She looks up at him with limpid eyes, huffing when his hands remain away from her fur, but she holds position. Jensen fiddles with the lens a few more times, makes sure the flash is off so he doesn’t blind her, and then presses the button down.

Too dark.

Once he’s adjusted the settings, he tries again. It comes out better this time, Sadie’s face in full view, looking put out at the lack of attention.

“Can I see?” Jared asks.

Jensen holds out the screen, thinking it fair that Jared can see photos of his own dog.

“Beautiful,” Jared pronounces. “You’ve caught her irritated _why aren’t you paying attention to me_ look perfectly. It’s immortalised for ever.”

Jensen snorts, rubbing Sadie’s head. The look disappears, her mouth lolling open with joy.

“Silly girl,” Jared says, his hand joining Jensen’s on her head. Their fingers are close as they both scratch through her fur. Jensen snatches his hand away.

“Thank you, Jensen,” Jared says, settling back onto the swing seat. He’s leaning forwards, head propped on his hands, regarding Jensen with a look of rare seriousness. “I mean it. Thank you for that.”

Jensen smiles. It hadn’t been nearly as terrifying as he’d thought.

Now that he’s leaning forward, Jared’s sitting at such an angle that the porchlight bathes his face in a soft glow, highlighting the point of his nose and the fan of his lashes. It softens the usual energy of his face, making him look almost ethereal; emphasised by the impossible curls around his face.

Jensen’s moving before he has time to doubt himself. “Can I?” he asks, voice scratching. The camera in his hand must be enough explanation because Jared nods, eyes wide. “Don’t move.”

Sliding onto his knees, Jensen moves forwards until Jared is poised above him. It’s the work of a moment to change the settings again, because this time he’s not experimenting; this time he knows exactly what he wants. The button presses down and Jared winces, clearly expecting a flash; but when nothing happens, he settles again, shoulders relaxing even further. Jensen takes more photos, heart pounding as he circles Jared carefully, playing with the light against his features.

Jared’s eyes are wide when Jensen looks up, his lip bitten between his teeth. Jensen flicks through the shots quickly, already aware that they’re some of his best work. Jared is still above him, waiting for further instruction.

Jensen lowers the camera, the adrenaline rush fading into abject embarrassment; his skin heating as he realises that he’d broken his self-imposed resolution not to photograph Jared.

“Can I see?” Jared asks softly.

Rising to his feet, Jensen shoves the camera at Jared. “Here,” he says, voice shaking. “I’ll get another beer.”

“Jen,” Jared says, worried, but Jensen’s already half way back to the house.

***

He takes his time inside, composing himself. He’s done nothing wrong, he reassures himself. Jared won’t be angry with him for taking the photos; there’s the possibility that he might even like them. Jensen’s never liked photos of himself; but he knows other people don’t have the same hangups. Chances are, that while Jared won’t love them, won’t feel about them the same way that Jensen already does, he’ll say something positive.

Jensen’s a lot calmer when he heads back outside with their last beers; not least because Jared hasn’t come inside to find him, to pressure him in any way. He’s still spread out across the swing seat, rocking lightly as he finishes up his previous bottle, Jensen’s camera nestled carefully in his lap.

Jensen hands Jared his beer before perching back on his own chair. It’s a while before Jared speaks and Jensen is both grateful for the continued pause and desperately eager to hear what Jared has to say.

“These are beautiful,” Jared says. “These shots… they’re…” Jared snorts a self-deprecating laugh. “That makes me sound like such an ass. I don’t mean me. The shots… the way you’ve done them, the way you’ve captured the light. They’re amazing.” There’s real awe in his voice and Jensen’s heart warms in a way that’s never once happened when he’s had something published. “Thanks, Jensen.” Jared carefully turns off the camera and packs it away when Jensen nods his agreement. “I’m gonna put this back in the house. But I still want to see this again, I want to see you taking photos of animals that don’t sit waiting for attention.”

Jensen’s halfway down his third bottle of beer when Jared comes back out. Jared crashes onto the porch swing, setting it swinging wildly and giggling a little.

“I love these seats,” he says happily. “If Grandpa had one, I’d never get any work done. I’d sit in it all day.”

Jensen agrees. His daily routine limits the amount of time he can spend on the swing seat for exactly that reason, the gentle rocking often lulling him into peaceful idling. “Me too,” he says.

“Well then why are you sitting over there?” Jared smiles at him. “There’s plenty of room here.” He pats the seat next to him, eyes crinkled with amusement.

Jensen considers, but only for a moment, before he pushes to his feet and walks over to sit next to Jared. He’s loose, his feet moving faster than he expected; but he’s pleased to note that it’s nothing like the way he’d felt the other night, when everything had been so out of control. There’s no sensation of the world moving too fast around him, no feeling of the ground rushing towards him and he settles on the seat next to Jared without upset.

Jared rocks them gently for a while, his foot working to move them back and forth. Jensen’s pretending to watch the sea beyond Jared, but in reality, he’s cataloguing Jared’s every feature, planning more photos he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to take.

“Do you ever take photos of you?” Jared asks. “Self-portraits?” He’s facing Jensen, arm resting on the back of the seat, body turned so that his knee is almost touching Jensen’s thigh.

Jensen shakes his head. The thought has never even occurred to him; there are far better things in the world to capture on film. The pictures of Jared tonight are the first he’s taken of another human in years; since he last took pictures of his family.

“You should,” Jared says, putting his beer on the floor. He moves even closer to Jensen, who stares resolutely out at the sea. “You should try. Those photos tonight, they were astonishing. And they were of my stupid face. You’re so beautiful, Jen; I just--.” He raises his hand, the back of a finger ghosting across Jensen’s cheekbone.

Warmth flares out from the touch, radiating through Jensen’s face into his chest with a shiver. Jensen can’t help but turn to face Jared, his face cupped by a warm palm as he meets Jared’s intent eyes.

“So beautiful,” Jared repeats, his thumb stroking across Jensen’s cheek. Jensen watches, captured, as Jared moves closer still, eyes dropping down and then back up to meet Jensen’s. There’s a long moment when Jensen should know what’s happening, but can’t process, his brain only able to focus on Jared’s proximity, the way his nose brushes gently across Jensen’s. Their lips meet, a touch so soft it tickles and then again, firmer; Jared’s mouth pressing against his so gently Jensen’s insides melt.

Jared’s other hand drops to Jensen’s shoulder and urges him around so that the angle is less awkward, their mouths never parting. Jensen lets himself be pulled, his hand rising of its own accord to find Jared’s shoulder, his neck and finally his hair, that tangle that’s fascinated him from the beginning.

Jared lets out a little moan at that, teeth biting down on Jensen’s lower lip. Jensen pulls back, worried that he’d made a mistake, hurt Jared or done something inappropriate. Jared doesn’t look upset; he’s flushed, eyes dark and wide, mouth turned up into a soft smile; but the moment of respite is enough for Jensen’s thoughts to come crashing in.

_I kissed a man,_ he thinks wildly, hand clenching on Jared’s shoulder as panic fills his chest. He starts to tremble, the feeling radiating outwards from his heart to his limbs, his breath shortening.

“I can’t,” he stutters. “I can’t. This isn’t right.”

Stumbling to his feet, he heads back towards the house, not daring to look at Jared.

***

Jensen trembles in his bed that night, in absolute chaos. His thoughts tumble about, catching on memories here and there; some new, some long suppressed. He waits, agonised, for over an hour, sure that Jared will come to find him; will want to talk about what happened. But Jared, true to form, doesn’t put Jensen under any pressure, or demand any answers. Jensen has no idea when he leaves, but by the time Jensen musters the courage to peek out of the window, there’s no sign of either him or the dogs.

Jensen can’t decide what’s worse; the thought that he might have hurt Jared in some way, or the worry that Jared might not care.

Jensen returns to bed, shivering with distress; his mind playing back endless reruns of his friendship with Jared.

_“These are beautiful, Jensen. If they were mine, I’d be so proud.”_

_“I don’t have to visit if you’d rather not.”_

_“You’re so beautiful.”_

_“Trust me.”_

All the times Jared treated Jensen like he was normal; all the times Jared was his own, sunny, unworried self, never expecting anything of Jensen other than the gift of his company.

Interspersed are moments Jensen now recognises as attraction; his eyes on Jared’s legs, his determination to capture the movement of Jared’s hair, his fascination with the ever-changing colour of Jared’s eyes. He’s astounded now that he didn’t realise; and yet.

Underneath all that are memories much older. Memories of his parents, his grandmother, in the years before the run of bad luck that had stripped Jensen of his family. Memories of church every Sunday and Wednesday evenings, grace before dinner, prayers offered to a God Jensen hasn’t believed in for a long time.

_“Marriage should be the preserve of a man and a woman.” A stern look at the television screen, an angry hand on Jensen’s head._

_“You’ll find a nice girl to marry someday, Jensen, someone who’ll take the time to get to know you beyond being shy,” a soft hand stroking down his back._

_“I’m glad that’s not my son,” a disapproving sneer twisting a familiar mouth, “I could never live with the shame.”_

Memories buried so deep, clutched so tight, they feel like a part of his core; swimming to the surface now with a lurching, painful intensity. He pushes them away but they’re replaced with the feel of Jared’s lips against his, the softness of Jared’s hair under his hands replacing the feeling of his mother’s hand on his own head. Jensen gasps with the intensity of it, the urge to wallow in the feeling, the desire for more.

It’s not something he can have.

By morning, he’s exhausted, his brain finally quieting as his eyes scratch against their lids, desperate for sleep. He falls into a restless, uncomfortable slumber, curtains wide to the growing sunlight, body aching with misery.

***

It’s late afternoon when he wakes, coming up from the deep a fight against his instincts. Even before he’s fully awake, he knows it would be better to stay sleeping, but the insistent ache of his bladder won’t allow for that.

Stumbling towards the bathroom, he tries desperately not to think about the day before, but everything comes rushing in without his permission.

The feel of Jared’s lips against his is the most overwhelming; a shocky burst of sense-memory that almost drives him to his knees, only strength of will keeping him upright. Everything that follows after is weak; the worry about Jared, thoughts of his parents both pale in comparison to the crashing realisation of how much he wants to experience that again.

He makes his way out to the garden on shaky legs, avoiding the swing seat with a full-body shiver. He settles in a heap at the edge of the garden neatest the dunes, seeking out the sound of the waves that has never failed to soothe him before.

It doesn’t work this time.

As afternoon turns to evening, the only thing Jensen can focus on is the fear that he might never see Jared again.

***

Jared doesn’t come back over the next few days.

Jensen works hard to get back into his daily routine. He heads out on walks, steadfastly avoiding the town, camera bag slung across his shoulder. Every shot reminds him of how much Jared had wanted to experience this, of how carefully Jared had asked and how willing he had been to wait.

He edits his photos in the afternoon; his work slower than normal as he listens for a familiar, booming bark.

He reads in the evenings, perched uncomfortably on the chair in his garden or resentfully curled up on his sofa inside despite the nice weather, anywhere that’s not the swing seat.

He can’t bring himself to set foot on the beach, no matter how beautiful the sunset.

***

Thursday rolls around with no sign of Jared.

Jensen lingers over his coffee even more than he usually does, his stomach hurtling between fear that he’ll see Jared and terror that he won’t. He wonders if people in the town will know; if Jared has told them, or if they’ll just be able to tell. _I kissed a man._

But a quick glance at the bare shelves of his fridge remind him of the necessity of his weekly trip, so later than usual, he climbs into his truck and heads into town.

“I was getting worried, Jensen,” Mrs Tay remarks as he enters the store. His bags are neatly packed to one side, space left at the top of the last one for his ‘impulse’ purchases. Jensen glances around, looking for cookies or other sweet snacks he can add to his shop for Jared’s next visit, before he remembers, dropping a packet of gummy bears with a frown.

A brightly coloured label catches his eye as he heads to the till to pay, and with a start, he recognises the craft beers Jared had brought to the beach. He stops mid-stride, fingers twitching.

“Oh, those,” Mrs Tay says, following his gaze. “Well, I’m not sure they’ll sell. But Jared was in here last week, talking to me about how much better they are than what I normally stock and how he’d love to have more variety, and well…” She stops, flushing. “Well, that boy could charm a stone. So I bought a few to see what people think. Why don’t you try a few bottles?”

She smiles at him, her own version of mothering charm. Jensen’s horrified to find that he wants nothing more than to scoop up all the available bottles, hoarding them at home until Jared is forced to come to his house to find them.

His hand hovers as his wants war with his morals, his desire to see Jared again contrasting with the knowledge that he shouldn’t trick Jared that way.

But then a third option presents itself to him, something so far outside his normal behaviour that he marvels at how much his life has changed since he met Jared.

Resolute, he scoops up a six pack.

“I’ll take these,” he tells Mrs Tay.

***

Jensen pauses at the end of the driveway, his heart pounding and his palms sweating.

Above and beyond his normal fear of social interaction is the worry that Jared will hate him after the other night; that he’d damaged their friendship irreperably. Jensen’s not sure what he would do if Jared asked him to leave; this is so far outside his normal that he has no framework for his response.

And if there’s a tiny part of him that hopes he hasn’t ruined any chance of anything beyond friendship, he’s definitely not ready to analyse that yet.

It takes another few minutes before he can draw upon the courage needed to walk down the driveway, but eventually he starts, one step at a time, the dilapidated old house drawing ever nearer. He braces himself for booming barks and rushing paws, almost as excited to pet Harley and Sadie as he is to see Jared; but there’s no sign of them as he approaches the porch.

There’s no sign of Jared’s car either, Jensen realises. His heart drops as he realises that Jared might be out; an outcome he hadn’t even contemplated when he mustered the willpower to visit. But there’s still a chance the car is in the garage, he reasons; he should definitely knock to be sure.

Jensen’s trembling by the time he knocks on the front door, his hand making far more noise than he anticipated. The sound booms through the house, setting Jensen’s teeth on edge, but there’s no response.

With a heavy heart, Jensen knocks once more. This time, he hears a faint shout from within in the house, too quiet to understand.

A sense of disquiet settles over him. Jared clearly isn’t at home; the lack of dogs bounding up to the front door is proof. That leaves Art.

Jensen knows the man, in the distant way he knows everyone in town; and thanks to Jared, Jensen knows how worried Jared and his mother have been about the older man. In his late 80s, Art is a town staple, always up and about early and as independent as he’s ever been; but even Jensen has noticed a change this past year, his frame stooping and his steps occasionally wavering.

This internal debate is much quicker than the decision to visit the house; within seconds, Jensen pushes the front door open, grateful that the remoteness of Elm Bay means most people don’t lock their doors.

Jared’s changes are immediately visible in the fresh paint on the walls and freshly dusted hallway, but Jensen spares no time marvelling at the changes wrought. He hurries through ground floor looking for Art, but there’s no sign of the older man in the silent house.

Heading up the stairs, his eye is drawn to a splash of red on the landing; looking down, he spots a trail of blood drops leading towards the big room at the front of the house. Heart pounding, he speeds up, opening the door as carefully as he can with his adrenaline spiking.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping to his knees.

Art is laid out on the floor, cradling an arm that is clearly broken. The bone is visible under the skin, a sickening gleam, much the same colour as Art’s ashen face.

“Art,” he says, “Art!”

Glassy eyes focus on his, the older man struggling to retain consciousness.

“Shit,” Jensen says again. His hands flail as he glances between the blood still seeping from Art’s arm back to the door, but ultimately, he knows this is beyond his meagre first aid skills. He has to find a phone.

“I’m going to…” his voice comes out as a whisper, more words than he’s spoken to anyone but Jared for a long time. He struggles to continue. “I’m going to find a phone. Call an ambulance.”

Art nods, his head lolling backwards to rest against his bedframe. Jensen hovers, worried that Art might pass out; but he reassures himself that calling an ambulance is the most important step he can take.

He rushes back through the house, looking for a phone. It’s not until he stumbles down the stairs into the front hall that he finds one, sitting innocuously on an old fashioned telephone table near the front door. His hands tremble as he dials.

“911, what’s your emergency,” the responder asks.

“Ambulance,” Jensen croaks out.

“Ok.” There’s a click and another voice comes on the line. “Where are you?” the voice asks.

Jensen panics for a moment before he remembers Jared’s address. “92 Elm Road, Elm Bay.”

“What’s the emergency?”

Jensen takes a deep breath. For a moment, he thinks he won’t be able to do it; he can’t remember the last time he spoke on the phone. But then, with a speed he’ll be forever grateful for, the words come pouring out.

“My neighbour’s broken his arm, there’s bone showing. He’s 80-something and there’s a lot of blood… he needs to go to the hospital right away.”

“Ok, an ambulance is on it’s way,” the responder replies. “Are you with him?”

“I’m downstairs, the only phone is downstairs,” Jensen says, for the first time cursing that he doesn’t own a cell phone.

“Ok. Was he breathing ok?”

Jensen responds on autopilot as the responder talks him through a number of questions, getting as much information as possible. She directs him to go back upstairs and make Art comfortable, try to stop the bleeding; telling him she’ll stay on the line in case anything changes.

Back in the bedroom, Jensen pats ineffectively at the blood, unwilling to touch the protruding bone and risk making things worse. He talks to Art as he does, trying to keep the older man conscious. His rambling turns to Jared within seconds as he tells the older man how they’ve come to be friends. Art smiles as Jensen talks, too weak to respond but clearly listening.

It feels like forever before Jensen hears the faint wail of sirens in the distance, and even longer before they’re loud enough to be nearby. But finally, there’s the thump of feet on the stairs and an EMT bursts through the bedroom door, another hot on her heels. Jensen slumps, the relief immediate as he hands over responsibility to someone trained to deal with it.

There’s a long wait before the EMTs are ready to move Art; they do a lot of tests and take a lot of precautions, asking Jensen endless questions he’s unable to answer without Art’s family medical history.

“I’m a neighbour,” he explains, voice cracking from overuse and his face flaming with mortification. “I came to visit his grandson.”

The female EMT looks at him kindly, sensing his extreme discomfort. “Well, you’ve done a good job today,” she says. “Are you going to follow on to the hospital?”

Jensen’s eyes go wide, fear clenching at his heart. He hadn’t even considered this as a possibility. Going to the hospital means lots of strangers, all in one place; the possibility that multiple people will want to talk to him; and a trip outside Elm Bay to a new environment for the first time in years. He breaks out in a sweat thinking about it, his stomach churning.

But then he thinks of Art, travelling alone in the ambulance; and Jared, off wherever, coming back to find his grandpa missing and finding him alone in a hospital. There’s only one choice he can make.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I’ll come.” Scribbling a quick note for Jared, he follows the EMTs out of the door.

***

The hospital is as bad as Jensen fears.

There are people everywhere, rushing back and forth with great purpose, or hovering impatiently as they wait for news of loved ones. Everyone is in their own world, intent on their own aims, and Jensen finds himself having to say, “Excuse me, excuse me,” repeatedly as he tries to make his way to the cubicle where Art is being treated.

“Are you family?” a nurse asks imperiously as he hovers outside the curtained area. Jensen chokes, words failing him in the face of such a direct question. “Family only,” the nurse orders.

“He brought me in,” he hears Art grumble, not quite truthfully, from the other side of the curtain. “Let him in.”

The nurse glares at him but flicks the curtain aside and Jensen steps into the enclosed space, immediately trying to find a spot out of the way of the nurses and doctor bustling around Art.

He looks better, Jensen notes immediately, more colour to his face, less likely to pass out imminently. The reason for that is probably the IV hooked up to his hand, pumping him full of fluids, as well as the cast on his arm.

“I’m going to need surgery,” Art says, looking supremely put out.

“Might need surgery,” his doctor corrects. “And not right now..”

“If I don’t need surgery then where are my painkillers?” Art complains.

The doctor rolls her eyes, but Jensen can tell it’s out of kindness, not frustration. “In the liquids,” she says. “Don’t worry, they’ll kick in in a sec.”

Art humphs, a sound Jensen had previously thought was fictional but is extremely expressive in reality.

“I can already tell you’re gonna be trouble,” the doctor says, teasing.

“I’ve been trouble since the day I was born,” Art says. “No reason to stop at my age.”

“Quite right,” the doctor agrees. Art settles back, clearly feeling understood.

“Have you called my grandson?” he asks. Jensen jumps at being addressed.

“I… I…” This is not the time for his dreaded stutter to reappear, he thinks furiously. “I.. don’t have a phone.”

“Oh right, you’re the silent one,” Art says. “Though Jared says you talk to him. Well. He’ll turn up, I expect.”

“Do you know the number?” the doctor asks kindly. “There’s a payphone in reception.”

Jensen flushes bright red. “No,” he whispers. He’d never thought to ask Jared about a phone.

“I can’t get along with those things,” Art says peremptorily. “Boy changes his number every month. He’ll turn up.”

His eyelids start to droop, his head settling back against the pillows he’s propped on.

“You did good,” the doctor says. “Could’ve been a lot worse if he’d had to wait longer.” Jensen looks down at his feet, feeling like his face is going to burst into flames, words stuck in his throat.

The doctor turns to Art. “Right, Mr Padalecki,” she says. “I think you’re as comfortable as you’re going to get right now.”

Art’s already asleep, his breathing far more even than it had been when they were in the house.

“You can stay here with him,” the doctor says to Jensen. “I’ll make sure the nurses know not to kick you out. Don’t let them scare you.Though they scare me sometimes. ” She gives Jensen a smile, clearly trying to put him at ease.

Jensen’s so overwhelmed he can barely nod his thanks, but he manages. The doctor bustles off, leaving Jensen alone with Art. He settles in to wait, wracking his brains to think of how he could contact Jared.

***

Jared bursts into the hospital two hours later.

Jensen hears him first; Jared’s not causing trouble but he’s certainly not being quiet in his quest to find his grandfather.

“I’m looking for Arthur Padalecki,” Jensen hears, Jared’s clear tones carrying easily through the chaos of the emergency room. He stands, fidgeting nervously, his hands twisting together. He’s worried that Jared will react badly to Jensen’s presence after the other night; or worse, think that Jensen was to blame for Art’s accident, or the ambulance not arriving quickly enough, or not being able to give the EMTs enough information, or not being able to contact Jared promptly because of his inability to talk to people normally, or any one of a dozen other scenarios that flash through his brain in the seconds before the curtain flies back.

Jared barrels into the tiny space, stopping abruptly at the foot of the bed. “Oh my god,” he says softly, gripping the foot rail. “He’s ok.”

His shoulders slump as he takes in Art’s sleeping form, his bandaged arm propped against his chest and the machines beeping at a comfortable, reassuring speed. “He’s ok.” His hand hovers for a moment, Jared clearly wanting to reach out and touch before thinking better of it.

It takes a moment for Jared to collect himself, but then he spins around to face Jensen.

Jensen’s shoulders tense, bracing himself for Jared’s reaction, for all the reasons Jared could be angry or upset. But strong arms fly around his shoulders and he’s tugged in to Jared’s chest, his head fitting into the crook of Jared’s neck.

“Thank you,” Jared murmurs into his hair. “Thank you so much.”

***

Jensen tries to leave not long after that, but Jared won’t have it. They sit in silence watching Art sleep, Jared’s chair pulled so close to Jensen’s that their shoulders touch. Jensen stays as Jared takes calls from his mother, as Art is moved out of the emergency room and into a proper ward, and even braves the hallways to bring Jared a much-needed coffee.

It’s late when Jared turns to him, scrubbing a hand across his eyes.

“Jen,” he says, voice raw. “You’ve already done so much today. But. Can I ask a favour?”

Jensen nods, ready to do anything to help ease the fine tremble of Jared’s hands, even if it means braving strangers again.

“The dogs. They’re locked up back at Grandpa’s. I want to stay with him tonight; could you take them to yours?”

Jensen nods firmly. This he can definitely do.

Jared’s shoulders slump with relief. “Ok. Their food is in the cupboard under the stairs. You have to…”

Jensen listens intently as Jared gives him complicated instructions for how to care for Sadie and Harley for an evening. Jared pulls him into another hug as he leaves, clinging for so long that Jensen buries his hand in Jared’s hair, petting gently. Thoughts flash razor sharp across his mind but he pushes them away; there’s no time for doubts of that kind when Jared is in this much pain.

Jared’s eyes are red-rimmed when he pulls back but he manages a watery smile. Jensen wants nothing more than to stay here with him to give comfort; but he knows there’ll be no ease for Jared while he’s worrying about his dogs.

“I’ll take good care of them,” he whispers as he leaves. Jared looks like he’s barely restraining himself from pulling Jensen into another hug; Jensen hovers at the door for a moment, in case, but Jared sinks down into his chair and fixes his gaze on his grandfather.

The dogs are extremely excited to see him when he arrives back at Art’s house; Jared had locked them in the garden and Jensen lets them into the kitchen, heaping out food in line with Jared’s careful instructions. He spots the note he’d left for Jared on the floor next to the telephone table; clearly, Jared had found it.

Legs shaking a little, he heads back upstairs to fetch their beds from Jared’s room. Halfway up the stairs, he realises what he’s about to see: the blood trail leading to Art’s room is still intact, the room itself still stained crimson. Jensen considers for a moment, but he knows what he has to do.

It takes over an hour to scrub the room clean of blood and Jensen is sweating by the time it’s done; there’s still a faint stain on the wooden floor, but Jensen has no hope of getting that out. He’s pleased, though; he couldn’t bear the thought of Jared coming back to the house to find such horrific evidence of Art’s accident.

Exhausted, he herds the dogs into his truck and turns towards home. It’s pitch black outside; Jensen can’t remember the last time he drove in the dark and it adds an air of unreality to what has already been an extremely stressful day. Luckily, it’s a short drive and he’s soon leading Sadie and Harley inside, hauling their beds and horrifically heavy bags of food in behind them.

The dogs are pleased to be there, but spend a fruitless ten minutes searching for Jared. Jensen’s heart breaks as he watches them sniff around, whining for their human; he can empathise all too well.

He wishes Jared were here too.

***

Jensen takes the dogs out for a long walk the next morning. He soon realises that he’s not going to be able to take many pictures while he’s with them; he’s a nervous wreck trying to keep on top of where they are and what they’re eating. But he feels much better for the walk and Sadie and Harley are beside themselves with joy as they complete one of the longest routes in Jensen’s collection of walks.

They flop down in the shade immediately when they get back to Jensen’s house, panting heavily and clearly ready for a nap. Jensen feels much the same way; he’s still not recovered from the stress of the day before; from all the unaccustomed interactions with strangers and the emotional intensity of looking after Jared.

There’s a note on his kitchen table when he heads to the kitchen for water.

“Jen, came by but guess you’re walking the mutts. Would you be able to keep them an extra day? My mom is flying in today and I gotta collect her. If not, my number is below. Grandpa’s doing better. Thank you.”

There’s a fudge oreo holding the note in place.

Jensen scoops up the note, poring over Jared’s chicken scratch handwriting, resisting the urge to stroke his thumb across the phone number at the bottom.

He’s happy to keep the dogs as long as Jared needs.

***

It feels like an eternity before Jared comes back. The dogs cry each evening as they realise their human isn’t coming home, scratching at the doors once Jensen closes them for the night, padding from room to room, trying to sniff him out. Jensen empathises, tries to distract them and feeds them more treats than they’ve probably ever had in their lives.

By the second night, they’re in the bed with him, Harley stretched out alongside him while Sadie twitches across his feet. Jensen has a sneaking suspicion Jared doesn’t allow this, but his detailed instructions hadn’t included not letting the dogs on the furniture and that’s enough plausible deniability for him.

It feels like Jensen has more time to think in those two days than he ever has before, thoughts whirling as he scratches his hands through Sadie’s fur or holds Harley back from eating human food. He thinks back to his parents and what they’d think of his life now; whether his grandma would be pleased with the life he’s living in her house. He’s forced to admit this wouldn’t be the life his parents would’ve wanted for him; they’d be distressed to find that Jensen had isolated himself from the world so effectively. His early life had been marked by his mother, in particular, gently encouraging him to build his confidence, to go out and make friends; she’d always told him that he didn’t need to make lots of friends, but it would be good to make some.

He has time to think about their reaction to Jared’s presence in his life, too. He’s forced to admit how instinctive his reaction had been, how deeply it had been buried; Jensen reads books featuring gay characters all the the time and he’s never considered himself homophobic. It’s just never been something he considered for himself. But Jared has thrown that wide open and he tries to think about it from that angle: if he were a character in a novel, how would he, the reader, react to this dilemma?

That sparks a panic attack that only abates after taking the dogs for a long, difficult walk; because deep down Jensen knows what he’d expect the character to do. He arrives back sweaty, muddy and exhausted and settles in to wait for Jared.

***

Harley takes off, paws scratching welts into Jensen’s leg as he pushes off. Sadie’s not far behind, scrambling across the garden in the low light of dusk with a speed that can only mean one thing.

Jared.

Jensen stands, trembling and unprepared despite three days of thinking of nothing but Jared’s arrival. The sound of happy, boisterous barks confirms it and Jared soon appears at the top of the path, the dogs bouncing around him with uncontainable glee.

Even in the grey light he looks exhausted, bags visible below his eyes and his steps slow and weary. He’s carrying a couple of bags, a rucksack slung over his shoulder; the way Harley bounces at it suggesting it contains food.

“Hey,” Jared says as he spots Jensen.

Jensen waves in response, awkward and unsure what to do. Jared drops the bags at the top of the garden and sinks to the ground, pulling the dogs on top of him. They take their opportunity, diving across him to lick his face, tails wagging madly as Jared ruffles their necks.

Collecting the bags, Jensen takes them into the house and puts them on the high counter; it gives him a welcome moment to collect himself. By the time he’s back outside, the dogs have calmed and Jared’s leaning back against the steps, head pressed into Sadie’s fur. Jensen steels himself and then, gathering his courage in his hands, sits beside Jared.

“Hey Jen,” Jared mumbles, before looking up. His eyes meet Jensen’s, gaze focusing earnestly. “Thank you so much,” he says softly. “Thank you for looking after them, and, well, thank you for…”

Jensen stops him. “It’s nothing,” he says, trying to sound firm. “No thanks needed.”

“That’s not true,” Jared murmurs, but he lets it go, sitting back with a groan. “It’s been fucking horrible, Jen.” He sounds so heartbroken, so weary. “Grandpa’s doing much better now but I hated it. I hate seeing him in so much pain. He’s so angry about being in the hospital too, he hates it, he’s miserable.”

Jared pauses again, scrubbing his face with his hands. “My mom arrived a couple of days ago. She’s gonna take him back to Texas with her for a while so he can recover at home. She’s still in town staying near the hospital but I couldn’t be away from them any longer.” He hugs Sadie fiercely, prompting a little squeak from her and a whuff from Harley, annoyed at being left out.

Jensen’s heart feels like it’s stopped beating. In all the scenarios he’s imagined over the past couple of days, Jared leaving town hadn’t even made the list. He was so sure that Jared would stay on to care for Art. And now, all his soul searching might be for nothing if Jared leaves.

“Are you…?” his mouth won’t form the words, the question stuck in his throat, choking him with sadness.

“I’m gonna be staying here for a while,” Jared says, apparently reading his mind. “Mom thinks it’s a great opportunity to get Grandpa’s house in a fit state for him to live in if he comes back. _When_ he comes back,” Jared says, firmly, correcting himself.

It’s Jensen’s turn to slump against the steps, his body sagging with relief.

“So yeah, gotta put up with me for a while longer,” Jared says, with a smile that’s only at about a quarter of it’s normal beaming, sunshine power. He looks shyly at Jensen, as if waiting for Jensen’s response.

“I’m glad,” Jensen murmurs.

They sit in silence for a while as the sky darkens, stars starting to twinkle above.

“I know you cleaned the house,” Jared says eventually. “Thank you.”

Jensen murmurs something indistinct, unsure of the appropriate words but wanting to indicate he’d heard.

“But I can’t help thinking about it. I know there was blood. There was a lot of blood, right? I saw his clothes. And I keep thinking about him there, alone; what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come by? His clothes were covered in blood, Jen.”

Jared’s voice breaks and Jensen reacts instinctively, pulling Jared towards him. He’s not used to offering hugs so he’s relieved when Jared takes over, collapsing into Jensen’s chest with a sob. Patting at Jared’s back, he winds his other hand into the hair that’s been tantalising him for days and strokes until Jared quiets, head resting on Jensen’s shoulder.

“You’ve already done so much,” Jared says, voice croaking. “But I can’t bear the thought of being in that house at the moment. Could I stay here tonight?”

Jensen’s mind flashes to all his fears about having other people in his space; his worries that Jared will find out other things about Jensen that he considers private; his anxiety about how to interact with a guest. It’s all blown away by Jared’s eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“Of course.”

***

“What happened to your parents, Jen?”

The question makes Jensen jump, coming out of the blue both literally and figuratively. Jared’s still curled into him, apparently unwilling to give up Jensen’s warmth, so the question is muffled against his chest, Jared’s face hidden.

It makes it easier to answer, the words released into the darkness instead of aimed at another human.

“Nothing dramatic,” he says, trying to gather his thoughts. “Mom got cancer when I was 14. Dad had a heart attack when I was 17.” He doesn’t add how his father’s death had been hastened by his unwavering grief over the loss of his wife; the way he’d seen his dad give up more each day. “Came here to my Grandma, but she was already frail. She passed about a year after.”

“Jen, I’m so sorry,” Jared says, voice filled with shock. “I’m so, so sorry.” His arms tighten around Jensen’s middle, head burrowing in.

“Me too,” Jensen says quietly, resting his chin on Jared’s head. He’s sad, of course he’s sad; it’s always there, bubbling under the surface, ready to spring forth at the most unexpected trigger. But there’s relief, too, in having told Jared; it’s been weighing on him since they met. He’s never had to explain before; everyone in Elm Bay had known, his family tragedy the stuff of town gossip even before he’d arrived.

“I’m glad you told me,” Jared says, echoing his thoughts.

As they sit, Jensen thinks about the way he’d shut himself off once his parents died; how, without his mother to push him, he’d stopped engaging with friends at school, and then how easy it had been to hide away once he moved to Elm Bay. It had happened so gradually, the changes barely noticeable, that he’d found himself living alone, his daily routine fixed and immovable, before he knew how it happened; the thought of making new friends far too overwhelming to contemplate.

But now there’s Jared curled up against him, taking the comfort Jensen’s offering during his own time of crisis. Despite all Jensen’s barriers and insecurities, Jared has become a friend, and Jensen can’t imagine going back to the way his life was before.

***

It’s a long time before they head into the house, long enough that the dogs have taken themselves off to bed.

Jared follows Jensen inside, stumbling with tiredness, hand fisted in the back of Jensen’s shirt. “C’mon,” Jensen says, scooping Jared’s rucksack off the counter as they go past. He leads Jared towards his room, intent on giving Jared his bed. To his dismay, but not shock, the dogs are already fast asleep on top of the covers, Harley’s drool making a small puddle below his mouth.

“They’re not allowed on the beds,” Jared says, grinning. “You’re such a sucker.”

Jensen flushes, but shrugs. It’s too late now and he’s enjoyed having the warmth of the dogs beside him at night.

“Wait,” Jared says, as Jensen drops the rucksack by the bed. “This is your room. Where are you going to sleep?”

“Sofa,” Jensen mumbles.

“Jen, no. I’ll take the sofa.” Jared looks aghast, picking up his rucksack and trying to push back past Jensen in the doorway. Jensen’s determined, though; he pushes Jared back and what results is a couple of minutes of gentle, extremely polite struggle, as they both refuse to give up.

Jared’s tired, though, wavering on his legs even as he stands. “Fine,” he concedes after a few minutes. “But you’re too damn nice for your own good. And I’m kicking the dogs out.” He stumbles back towards the bed, sitting down with a thump and shoving at Harley’s backside until the dog hits the floor. “Out,” he says sternly. “No sleeping on the beds.”

Jensen can’t help but giggle at the sight of Jared, rumpled and exhausted, trying to discipline his errant dogs.

“Not fucking funny, Jensen,” Jared grumbles. “You’ve set a bad example. Now they’ll love you more than me.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and heads off to make up the couch in his study.

By the time he comes back to check Jared has everything he needs, Jared’s stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt, the harsh overhead light switched out for the soft glow of Jensen’s bedside lamp. He makes an enticing sight, perched on the edge of Jensen’s bed, yawning and sleepy, the sharp cut of his jaw limned in the lamplight. Jensen’s stunned by the urge to crawl into the bed with him.

He pushes it down ruthlessly and instead, musters his words.

“Got everything?” he asks, trying to be a good host.

Jared looks up from his yawn, blinking sleepily.

“Yeah. Just one other thing.”

He stands, crossing to Jensen in the doorway, long legs eating up the space before Jensen has a chance to get nervous. He stops right in front of Jensen, close enough that the slightest movement would have their noses brushing. Jensen can smell the minty hint of toothpaste overlying the scent of dog and sweat and paint he’s come to associate with Jared.

“Thank you, Jensen, for everything.” Jared’s hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing softly. “But there’s something else I want and I don’t want it to get tangled up with thanks, so it’s not thanks, ok?” Jared peers at him intently, seeking Jensen’s understanding. Jensen has no idea what’s going on, but he nods: whatever it is, isn’t thanks.

“Ok,” Jared breathes. He slides his hand up Jensen’s neck, thumb brushing along his jaw. Jensen can’t help the way his eyes flutter shut, breath coming faster. “I know this went wrong before but I don’t think I’m reading it wrong now. Am I reading this wrong, Jen?”

There’s a hint of desperation in Jared’s voice, a touch of panic, that makes Jensen’s heart clench and his eyes fly open. Jared gives him a searching look, clearly waiting for Jensen to say something.

Jensen’s really, really not good with words so instead, he leans forward the tiniest bit. It’s enough for their lips to brush, a shiver of sensation, before Jared presses forward. The kiss deepens a little, the movement of their lips together the entire focus of Jensen’s body as his knees go weak. Jared captures his lower lip between his and nips gently, a spark shooting down Jensen’s spine, before stepping back.

“I want this,” he whispers. “So much. But I know it’s a lot for you. So I’m going to go to bed and think about kissing you until I crash out, and let you have some time to think.”

With a final stroke of his thumb across Jensen’s cheek, he walks back to the bed. There’s one last lingering look back at Jensen before the lamp flicks out, plunging the room into darkness.

***

Jensen wakes late the next morning, sleep slow to come because of the endless tingle of his lips. Jared’s gone when he stumbles out into the living room, back aching from a night on the sofa, and so are the dogs.

There’s a note on the table, this time held down with one of the craft beers Jensen had bought at Mrs Tay’s.

_Thank you again for looking after the dogs and for letting me crash. Had to leave early to take Mom and Grandpa to the airport. But also wanted to give you space. Will be thinking about last night._

_J x_

Jensen stares at the kiss, thumb rubbing compulsively over his lower lip. He’s still torn, aware that giving up what were apparently deeply held values (even if they were equally deeply hidden) isn’t going to be the work of a moment; but right now, there’s nothing he wants more than another kiss.

He wonders how soon Jared will be back.

***

Not soon at all, is the answer. Two days pass without barks, without Jared’s long legs powering down his path or over the dunes. Jensen’s routine is shot to pieces; he’s completely unwilling to leave his house in case Jared turns up, forgoing his daily walks altogether. That has the knock on effect of meaning he has nothing to do with his afternoons, so he spends the time in a haze, wandering through the house, looking out of the windows and editing the few pictures he’d taken of Jared, producing endless versions he has to use all his willpower not to print out again and again in the little darkroom at the back of the house.

By the third day, Jensen is beginning to think Jared has forgotten, or changed his mind, or is uninterested. He stares at the phone number at the bottom of the first note, but he’s never been good with the phone and the thought of relying on it for one of the most important conversations of his life is terrifying.

He spends even more time agonising over the kiss on the second note; surely Jared wouldn’t have changed his mind? The written kiss plus the two physical kisses makes three kisses; Jared must be sure of what he wants to put his feelings on the line like that, Jensen tells himself again and again. But why hasn’t he come back?

It’s not until the fourth day and the six hundredth viewing (approximately) of the second note that it clicks. _Giving you space_ , the note says. Jared is doing what he’s done since the beginning - not pressuring Jensen, giving him the chance to make his own decisions at his own pace, demanding nothing.

He’s waiting for Jensen.

A week ago, that would have been enough to send Jensen into a tailspin of panic and doubt, provoking hours of agonised thought over whether he should, whether he _could_ , go to Jared.

Now, he grabs his keys, the door slamming behind him.

***

His rush of courage is draining by the time he parks his truck in front of Jared’s house. He idles for a moment, but the now-crumpled note sits on the dashboard and the sight of the little scrawled x is enough to propel Jensen out of the truck.

Beers in hand, he walks towards the front door, hoping that Jared will be at home this time. He’s not sure he’ll be able to do this a second time. But barks sound out as soon as he sets foot on the porch, the thunder of paws race towards him and he’s receiving kisses as soon as the door opens, even if they are rather more slobbery and doggy than he’d hoped. Laughing, he pushes Harley away from his face.

Jared stands in the doorway, hand gripping the frame tightly as he stares at Jensen. His threadbare t-shirt is covered in paint, ripped off jeans short on his legs leading down to bare feet, and Jensen is overcome with the familiar urge to get out his camera, capture the beauty of the paint stuck in his hair, the streak on his cheekbone highlighting the strong lines of his face.

“Jen?” Jared asks, sounding both hopeful and terrified as Jensen stands frozen on the porch.

The sound snaps Jensen back into motion and he barrels forward before he can lose his nerve. His hands close around Jared’s neck, pulling him down until their lips crash together. It’s clumsy and rough and perfect; Jensen has no idea what he’s doing but he’s got his mouth on Jared’s and that’s all that matters.

Jared’s hands cup his face and pull him back. There’s a moment when Jensen’s stomach plummets with the terrifying thought that he’d read this wrong, but Jared murmurs, “Thank god,” so softly and fervently that he’s soothed immediately. Jared’s mouth finds his again, slower and softer this time, Jared leading him into a much deeper kiss than any they’ve shared before. Jared pulls him into the house, kicking the door shut with his foot and crashing back into the wall.

Jensen presses up against him, the warmth of Jared’s body a revelation. The dogs scamper round their feet, unnoticed, as Jared’s hands sweep down Jensen’s back, coming to rest on his belt. Jensen pants into Jared’s mouth, overwhelmed by sensation.

“Jen,” Jared whispers into the tiny space between their mouths. “I don’t wanna… not here. I’m still not very comfortable here.”

Jensen rests his head against Jared’s. “Ok,” he agrees. His heart is racing, his mind whirring and he’s forced to admit that taking a moment might not be a bad thing. “My house?”

“Yeah. Just let me grab some stuff, ok?”

Jensen leans against the wall as Jared bustles about, trying to calm his breathing. He watches Jared, able to do so openly for the first time. He watches how graceful Jared is as he darts across the floor, light on his feet despite his height. He smiles at the play of muscle in Jared’s back as he bends down to put the lids on some paint cans, planning how he could capture the shadows with his camera. He melts at the bright, dimpled smile on Jared’s face as he approaches, rucksack on his back and dogs at his heels.

“You watching me, Jen?”

Jensen blushes, but maintains eye contact. Surely watching is allowed now.

Jared’s grin turns mischievous. “Gonna take more photos of me?”

Jensen’s whole body flushes with heat this time, as he imagines all the photos he could take. “Yeah,” he replies, voice coming out far lower than normal.

“Good.” Jared’s reply is anything but lighthearted, his eyes darkening as he licks his lips. There’s a heavy, weighted moment before Jared’s moving again.

“Let’s get back to yours now or we never will,” he says. Jensen’s only too happy to follow him out.

***

On the short drive back to Jensen’s, Jared’s hand finds his over the console, their fingers twined together. It sends shivers down Jensen’s spine, tingles up his wrist and coils of heat through his belly. If this is the result of simple hand holding, he doesn’t know how he’ll survive whatever comes next.

Jared tugs him into the house when they get back, not wanting to let go. They herd the dogs into the garden together, making sure their water bowls are full, before Jared turns to him.

“Are you sure about this, Jen? Last chance to-” he’s cut off as Jensen crashes into him, mouths connecting sharply. There’s a moment of blinding heat as their mouths connect, before Jared pulls back again.

“Bedroom,” he says, pulling Jensen along. They tumble onto the bed, Jared laughing as Jensen lands on top of him. “Let’s be careful with this, Jen. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with, ok? So stop me if you want.”

Jensen wants to roll his eyes but Jared looks so earnest, so caring, that he restrains himself. “Ok,” he says instead. “I want this,” he adds firmly, so that everything is clear.

“Good,” Jared breathes, the last words he says for a while.

It’s slower when their mouths meet now, Jared keeping the kiss less frantic, though no less intense. Jensen braces himself on his hand, hovering over Jared and keeping his eyes open so that he can see everything, see all Jared’s reactions play out across his face. He’s cataloguing each little sound internally, watching the flicker of Jared’s eyelids, the flush on his cheekbones, using each reaction to distract himself from the feelings racing through his own body and the increasing likelihood that he’s going to finish in his pants.

Jared’s aware of that, though; his hands drop to Jensen’s waist and start to pull at his belt, trying to get it out of the loops. “This ok?” he murmurs.

Jensen nods in response. He wants to do the same for Jared, but even more, he wants the rest of Jared’s clothes off.

A tug at Jared’s t-shirt is enough to start the process, Jared’s back bowing beautifully as he wiggles free. His hand fists in Jensen’s shirt. “You too?” he asks.

Jensen spares a moment to think that he should be terrified; no one has seen him shirtless since his mother when he was a teenager lounging in his back garden. But he’s not scared; nothing has ever felt so right. His t-shirt goes sailing across the room, accompanied by Jared’s laughter.

The clink of belt buckles are the next sounds, as Jared shoves his own pants down before going to work on Jensen’s. They only get Jensen’s as far as his knees before he’s settling back on top of Jared, anxious for the touch of skin on skin, now that he knows what it feels like.

Jared throws his head back as he settles, revealing a gleam of sweat nestled at the base of his throat. Jensen can’t help but lean down to taste, immediately addicted to both the feel of Jared under his tongue and the way it sends a shudder rippling through Jared’s body.

“Fuck, Jen,” Jared says, breath hitching. He grips Jensen’s short hair, shifts his body and with a spark Jensen will always remember, they’re fully aligned, cocks brushing against each other for the first time.

It’s enough to short out Jensen’s brain, a groan punching out of him as his mouth crashes down on Jared’s again. Jared’s hands on his hips guide him into a dirty, instinctive grind, little moans falling from his mouth as Jensen watches, fascinated.

“Jen, tell me you’re close?” he pants, eyes screwed closed.

Jensen is definitely close. “Yeah,” he murmurs, mouth finding Jared’s again. It’s barely a kiss this time, mouths meeting, tongues brushing as they both undulate. Jensen’s pushed over the edge when Jared’s leg wraps around him, pushing into his ass so that he grinds down harder, lightning shooting through him as his body tenses.

It only takes a couple more moments for Jared to finish too, eyes squeezing shut as he shoots over Jensen’s stomach. Jensen’s entranced by the way he bites his lip, the flush down to his chest, the way the tendons in his neck stand out as he comes, before Jared grins up at him and captures his mouth again.

They kiss softly for a few moments before Jared rolls them to the side. “You’re heavy,” he complains. “You ok?”

He cups Jensen’s face, peering anxiously at him.

“I’m perfect,” Jensen says, running his finger along Jared’s lip where white teeth are biting down. He replaces them with his own teeth, eliciting a yelp. “I never imagined…” He tails off, the weight of all the things he never imagined halting the rest of the words in the back of his throat.

“Well,” Jared says, mischievous again. “I have a vivid imagination and I’ve spent the last few weeks imagining a lot of things. We can work on trying them out, if you’d like?”

Jensen rolls them so that Jared’s straddling him. “Keep talking,” he says.

***

Jensen does the same things at the same time every day, more or less. He wakes up each morning and pads out of bed into the kitchen. There’s usually coffee waiting for him and the dogs crowd around his legs, hoping that in his sleepy state he’ll forget they’ve already been fed. It’s definitely never happened (ok, only once or twice) but they live in hope.

He sits at the counter drinking his first coffee before hopping into the shower. He makes breakfast once he’s out; sometimes pancakes, sometimes bacon and eggs, sometimes cakes and muffins from Mrs Tays.

If it’s a nice day, he loads it all onto a tray and carries it out onto the beach, feet careful as he pads over the dunes. The dogs follow him, especially when he’s got bacon, and he settles down in the sand, sipping his second coffee. It usually only takes a few minutes before Jared joins him, freshly showered after his run, flopping down into the sand next to him.

Sometimes there are kisses before breakfast and sometimes Jared’s too hungry and the kisses come after; but there are always kisses. He watches as Jared eats, one eye on Jared and the other always on the light, hand resting on the camera by his side. Sometimes, he gets distracted during breakfast, picking up the camera and directing Jared into the light he wants, or to pose in a certain way, but mostly he lets Jared eat; he’s learnt not to come between Jared and food.

It’s after breakfast that their routine becomes a little more erratic. Jensen’s determined that they keep to his old schedule, heading out to walk the dogs and take photos, but more often than not they get distracted by each other, winding up back in bed or occasionally, only making it as far as the dunes before they sink down, getting sand in places that sand shouldn’t be. It happens often enough that Jensen thinks he should amend the routine so that walks start in the afternoon. Most days Jared drags them through town, stopping to chat with residents who are fast becoming accustomed to seeing them together, including Jensen in the conversation and encouraging him to get to know his neighbours.

Evening finds them curled around each other as Jared reads or plans works on his grandfather’s house and Jensen edits the day’s photos. When the weather is warm, they sit on the swing seat, intertwined, as the sun sets over the horizon.

Jared had been like a wave in Jensen’s life, crashing into him and upending everything, washing it clean for a fresh start Jensen didn’t know he needed. Jensen thinks how lucky he was to be on the beach that day, as Jared set foot in the sea.

How lucky he is to be living his life; no longer looking at it through a lens.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/soy_em67).


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